


My Liege Lord

by jhoom



Series: My Liege Lord [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (john is going to die), (the underage is specifically for masturbation), Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Bedsharing, Blowjobs, Bottom!Cas, Canon-Typical Violence, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, King!Dean, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Slow Burn, bodyguard!cas, canon compliant character death, cas/daphne (one-sided), cas/meg - Freeform, charlie/gilda - Freeform, dean/others - Freeform, demi!cas, dub!con (dean/amara), handjobs, historical!AU, knight!cas, medieval!au, minor jo/anna, prince!Dean, top!dean, virgin!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: From a young age, Castiel has been groomed to serve as Dean’s personal bodyguard.  They’re inseparable as children and good friends as adolescents.  When Dean ascends to the throne, though, there’s a subtle shift in their relationship.  If only Castiel knew what to make of it…





	1. Boyhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaay! i'm posting something on ao3! it's been like... forever since i've had a WIP up. most of what i've been doing lately are one shots on ao3 and short ficlets on tumblr... anyway, this is a project i've been thinking about for a while. 
> 
> a couple notes: the story is rated as explicit because there will be sex scenes in later chapters; john is briefly depicted in this chapter and possibly the next chapter, but will die in the third chapter so that dean can ascend to the throne; i've tagged for things i'm reasonably confident will appear in the story, but since this is a WIP new tags will be added with each chapter; this chapter introduces cas and dean as children, next up we'll have them as teenagers, and then the rest of the story will be them as adults.
> 
> not sure how frequent updates will be - depends on some other projects i've got going for challenges and big bangs, but hopefully once every couple weeks.
> 
> and as always, feel free to visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com)

The Novak family was ancient beyond measure.  In many ways, older than the lords they served.  They’ve been working and protecting the lands since long before there was ever a Winchester lording over them in the stone castle by the river.  They are in many ways noble, though only in the ways time can give a bloodline.  There are no crowns or titles or honors bestowed upon their house; they remained a simple, but enduring family.  Wars came and went; famines and floods; prosperity and destitution, yet there always was a Novak living on the homestead near the castle.  

In recent years, the family dwindled to a single branch with a father and his young son.  They were the last of the Novak clans, a knight and his boy, and they did their best to uphold the honor of their name, such as it was.  He sold what little was left of their family lands and moved to the castle where the father was one of King’s John’s most loyal knights.  The father served in the King’s Guard; fought and bled and, eventually died fighting in the name of his king.

Though his sacrifice was duly noted by the king himself, it would have soon been forgotten if not for the presence of his boy.  The father turned knight had lived in the castle walls with his young boy, who was already motherless and now fatherless as well.  When King John called the boy in for an audience to express his thanks for his father’s service and his sincerest regrets for his death etc. etc., he took pity on the young dark-haired boy.  

“What’s your name, son?”

“Castiel, my lord.”  

“And how old are you, Castiel?”

“Seven, my lord.”

“Have you lived in the castle long?”

The boy shrugged, then seemed to realize it was not an appropriate answer to give a king and spoke: “Since I can remember, my lord.”

The king leaned back in his throne, looking over the young lad.  Charles Novak had been a good man and had no doubt set aside some inheritance for his son, but with no family to play as champion for him, the boy would likely end up in an orphanage like as not.  A boy whose father had died taking a lance blow to the leg while protecting his king, who’d suffered terribly as rot set into the limb and sucked the life out of him, the boy deserved more than this.  Charles Novak, may the gods keep him, deserved more, and King John would not let his only son end up on the streets or in some boarding house because of some poor turn of fate.

“Would you like to stay in the castle, Castiel?”

For the first time since entering the large audience hall, the boy perked up.  Blue eyes found King John’s as he hesitantly said, “Yes, my lord, I would very much like to stay here.”

“No one stays here who doesn’t earn his keep, though.  I’ll have to give you a job, and you’ll have to do that job as well as you can.  No matter how hard or boring or unrewarding you might find it at times, it’s a very important job that’ll you have to do if you agree to it.  Do you think you can do that, son?”

Castiel knew a lot about the tasks doled out to those living within the castle walls.  There were stable hands, cooks and scullions, chambermaids and porters, smiths and clerks, and numerous others he didn’t know the name for but had seen milling about the courtyard and hallways.  He’d never expected to have one of those jobs - Castiel had spent many a night dreaming of swordplay and battles like those his father told him about - but he supposed he could do any of those jobs if it meant staying in the only home he’d ever known.

“What’s the job?”

Instead of answering directly, the king stood up and stepped down to kneel in front of Castiel.  “You know, I have a boy ‘bout your age.  We’ve got an old tradition here that every young heir to the throne gets their bodyguard.  Not just any bodyguard, but one who cares for their charge more than any hired knight ever could.  Someone who’s raised with him, who values him as a friend rather than a lord or as the source of his next meal.  When the Prince comes of age and needs someone to protect him, that’ll be your job.  Do you think you can do that, Castiel?”

It confused Castiel to hear the word ‘friend’ when this was supposed to be a serious job he was accepting, but he nodded as long as if he understood the king’s meaning.  “Yes, my lord.  I can do that.”

“Good.”  The king clapped Castiel on the back and motioned over a steward.  “We’ll get you chambers near Dean’s room and have you start lessons with him in the morning.  First, though, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Everything the boy owned fit neatly into a single bag (excepting of course his father’s sword and armor, which were placed delicately in the chest in his new quarters).  Most of his clothes were unceremoniously tossed aside as he was given new, clean ones that actually fit.  Looking at his reflection in a glass window, Castiel frowned.  He didn’t recognize this boy who’d been scrubbed clean of dirt and grime, put into clothes more befitting of his new station, and had his hair trimmed in an attempt to tame it.  The boy who stared back at him wasn’t a knight’s son, though, he was a knight in training, and perhaps that made all the difference.

That night, alone in a new bed in a wing of the castle he’d never even been given leave to step foot in before, Castiel hid under his blankets and cried.  He missed his papa, he missed his old room, and he was starting to worry about what he’d agreed to.  King John had been kind, but there was a sternness behind his words that left Castiel unsure how to react to the man.  He’d been distant, like more adults were though moreso, yet called Castiel “son.”  Castiel was not so young that he mistook that for actual affection, but it made his position with the king more nebulous.  He was still his king and liege lord, but was he acting as a surrogate father as well?  Or was he strictly Castiel’s employer?  

Far too young to understand more than that his life was changing, Castiel fell into a dreamless sleep just before dawn struck his window.

\- - - -

Castiel needn’t have worried.  For all that King John felt responsible for Charles Novak’s death and the upbringing of his son, he had little personal interest in the boy.  Once he’d passed him off to his castellan and stewards, his interest in the boy waned.  Aside from greeting the boy with a curt nod if their paths crossed throughout the day, Castiel might as well have not existed for all the the notice the king paid him.  Perhaps it should have been insulting, but all he felt was relief.

He also did not have the pleasure of meeting the prince in the morning as the king had suggested.  It was decided by the castellan that his manners and dress, though impressive for a knight’s lad, were not equal to the task of being a playmate of the young heir.  One of the chambermaids took it upon herself to teach him as much as she could in a day’s time.  Though the king may have forgotten him for now, it was unlikely that would remain the case - whether he was ‘ready’ or not, he would need to begin in the training the king expected him to follow.  

The day was exhausting and dull, and only the promise that he would meet the prince the next day kept Castiel from regretting his decision to accept the king’s offer.  Still, he sniffled and trembled alone in his new bed once again, unable to calm his nerves.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that his whole life hinged upon meeting Prince Dean, and if that didn’t go well, it was very likely he would be kicked out of the castle.  Dreams of being homeless plagued him that night, and another night spent tossing and turning has him wondering if he'll ever feel rested again.  

After a brief meeting with the castellan at breakfast, it was determined Castiel was adequately prepared to join the prince.  Or, as the exasperated man declared, it was “as good as it was like to get.”  A steward escorted him to the far side of the castle.  He spared a final moment to fuss over the boy’s clothing and make sure he knew how to properly address the prince before thrusting him into the chambers set aside for education of the young prince and then disappearing.

Stumbling inside with a yelp, Castiel nearly tripped over the doorstep but managed to catch himself in time that he merely stumbled awkwardly.  As he steadied himself, he took in the space before him.  The room overlooked the inner courtyard of the palace and large windows let in copious amounts of light.  The wall opposite was lined with maps and charts, while the remaining space was occupied by bookshelves and long tables lined with benches, both filled with books and globes and other things Castiel could only guess at the purpose of.  A guard stood still as a statue in the corner, silently assessing Castiel before ignoring him altogether, but otherwise the room held no one else.  And at the table nearest the door sat a boy near his own age.

Considering his whole life would come to hinge upon this moment, it passed by in such a blur that later Castiel could scarce recall the details.  

Looking up from his book with a bored face, the boy did a double take when he saw Castiel lingering in the doorway.  Green eyes appraised him before a smile appeared.  Patting the empty space next to him, he said, “You must be Castiel.  I’m Dean.”

“Hello, my prince.”  He bowed low as he’d been instructed.  “It’s my pleasure to meet you, my- ow!”  A rolled up ball of paper landed at his feet after bouncing off his head, and Castiel couldn’t help but glare at the young prince.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t call me that.  Prince.  I don’t like it.  I’m just Dean, okay?  If we’re going to be friends, you’re gonna have to call me Dean.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side as he tried to parse what the prince had told him.  The stewards had made it clear he needed to show the utmost respect, never calling the prince by his given name…

… And yet Dean had said they were to be friends, and Castiel found himself longing for a friend more than a prince to serve.  

“Alright... Dean,” he said, trying the name on his tongue.  It sounded nice.  It was certainly less cumbersome than ‘my prince’ or ‘my lord’ or ‘my liege.’  All of those sounded like things for grown-ups, anyway.  He took a few cautious steps over to the bench and then sat down.  “My name is Castiel-”

“I know who you are.”  Dean closed his book and turned to straddle his seat so he could face Castiel.  “Papa says we’re to be friends and one day you’ll serve as High Knight of the King’s Guard and blah blah blah.  Basically you’re gonna be my best friend like Uncle Bobby is for my father.”

He had no idea who Uncle Bobby was nor how that related to Castiel and Dean, but he nodded as though he did.  “Yes, I’m going to serve as your bodyguard when I grow up.  At least, that’s what the king said.”

Dean’s knuckles wrapped on the wood bench as he chewed his bottom lip.  After several moments of heavy silence, he said, “You don’t look much like a bodyguard.  You’re kinda small and don’t look very big.”

Indignant, Castiel momentarily forgot he was talking to a prince.  He puffed up his chest as he said, “My father was a knight.  He was plenty big and strong, and I will be too once I grow up.”

“Oh yeah?” the boy responded, a challenge in his eyes.  “Prove it!”

“How?”  It seemed an impossible challenge.  How does one go about proving a future that hasn’t yet come to pass?

Dean immediately put an elbow on the table, hand up and palm out.  “We should arm wrestle.”  He wiggled his fingers in invitation.  “C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He’d seen the guards and knights play this game many times before and knew the basic idea of it.  What Castiel didn’t understand is what Dean hoped to learn from this.  Castiel had helped his father carry and polish his armor on a number of occasions, as well as helping him load and unload his bags before trips out to the borders.  Nevermind the hours he’d spent completing chores for the miller, the blacksmith, the porter, and anyone else who asked in exchange for candied treats.  Though small, there was certainly muscle there.  

The prince, however, looked as though he’d never lifted more than his fork to his mouth.  The hand he offered Castiel was smooth and uncalloused, not a speck of dirt beneath the nails.  His coloring was healthy, but the tan suggested he spent his time playing in the sun instead of working.  Young as he was, Castiel saw and noted these differences and wondered how the prince did not.  For all his bravado, the prince’s confidence would do nothing to help him in this contest.  Surely the prince must know this.

“What do I get if I win?”

Dean snorted.  “We can discuss that _if_ you beat me, okay?”  

It must be nice to be a king’s son, born with such assurance in one’s own abilities.  Though he wouldn’t admit it outloud, Castiel would secretly enjoy beating Dean just for the chance to say he’d bested a prince at something.  Angling himself to put his own elbow on the table, he clasped Dean’s hand in his own.  

“We go on three.  One… two… _three!_ ”

The boys immediately started flexing and pulling.  Dean was stronger than Castiel had thought him to be, but it was easy to hold his ground.  Castiel thought of seeing how long he could keep the match balanced here at the precipice of him losing, but that seemed a foolish waste of his effort.  After only a few seconds, he pushed back against Dean in earnest and quickly ended the match.  

“Huh…” Dean said, genuine confusion on his face.  “Best two out of three?”

Though Dean lost the second as well, they continued on to the third match.  After being swiftly defeated three times in a row, Dean sighed.  “I… I lost.”  He looked adorably baffled.  “I’ve never lost.  Everyone always lets me win.  Everyone.  You _beat_ me.”

Alarm immediately set in.  Of course everyone let him win, he was the _prince_.  Castiel had let himself forget it, and now the other boy would be upset with him.  He’d be kicked out of the palace, sent to find his way on his own-

“This is awesome!”  The prince doubled over in laughter, resting his head on the table and banging his fist on it with delight.  Once the laughter died down, Dean pushed himself back up and brushed the tawny locks of hair from his brow.  “Papa said never trust someone who always lets you win, but even _he_ does it most of the time.”  He reached out to muss Castiel’s hair, some errant giggles escaping.  “I like you, Cas.  Don’t ever let me win at stuff and I think we’ll be good friends.”

“Oh.”  A smirk began to grow.  Dean offered friendship, and all he asked for in return was honesty.  Hardly a challenge, given that his father had encouraged Castiel to be nothing but.  “I think I can manage that.”

“Good.”  Dean winked at him before grabbing a small chalkboard.  “Frank, my tutor, went to get some tea.  When he gets back, he’ll continue his lesson on history. Then we’ll practice letters and reading.  Can you read?”

Castiel hesitated before accepting the chalkboard and piece of chalk.  He’d never held such things before, luxuries as they were for a low ranking knight to buy his son.  All the letters he’d learned had been scrawled across the dirt.  “I can write my name,” he admitted shyly.

“Okay, then we’ll probably spend a lot of time on that.  Don’t mind Frank.  He likes to call people stupid, but don’t let it bother you.  He’s called _Papa_ stupid in front of the whole council.  It’s just the way he is.  But he’s actually pretty nice and a good teacher.  Don’t tell him that, he likes to be a pain, but if he sees you need help he’ll help.  Can you show me how you write your name?”

The boys sat there spelling out words for another half hour before Frank found his way back.  The young lads were already well on their way to being best friends.  

\- - - -

Two young boys - one in a homely brown tunic, the other in a more stately green one - continued sneaking around the edge of the stables.  The courtyard wasn’t particularly crowded at the moment, which made their task easier, but they still had to duck and dodge around corners as they did their best to keep out of sight as they make their way to the kitchens.  They’d managed to evade all the guards and the servants so far, but this was always the trickiest part.

“Stay here and keep watch,” Dean whispered loudly as they hid behind some hedges near the back entryway to the kitchens.  “I’ll go grab some snacks, then we go to the clubhouse and eat them.”

Castiel nodded solemnly.  “Okay.”  

“We’re gonna need a codeword.  If you see someone coming, call _meow_.”

“Why meow?”  

Dean rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “Because then everyone will just think it’s a cat and not know it’s us.”

“Oh.  Okay, good thinking.”  It seemed reasonable enough that Castiel didn’t argue the point.  He watched as Dean darted across the archway into the kitchens and disappeared.  

There wasn’t much to do other than cast suspicious glances at anyone who came near, but none went towards the kitchens and none noticed (or cared) that Castiel was crouched behind the hedges.  More likely than not, they were used to the young prince and his future bodyguard’s antics and found it easier to pay them no mind.  Castiel stayed there, challenging himself by counting to a hundred to see how high he could go.  He’d barely reached twenty when shouting came from the kitchens.

“Meow!” Dean called as he rushed out the door, arms full of tarts.  It took Castiel a moment to understand what was going on, but when he did, he sprinted after the other boy.  

“You idjits, get back here!” Bobby called after them as he emerged from the kitchens, hot on Dean’s trail.  The bodyguard always had a knack for catching them when they were up to no good or avoiding their lessons, and today appeared to be no different.

The boys kept running and didn’t turn back, giggling once they realized they’d outrun the aging knight.  

While Winchester faced border skirmishes regularly, the castle was at the heart of the kingdom.  There was no danger of attacking armies or bandits or anything even half so nefarious, and it showed.  The ramparts held a few soldiers on duty, but they laughed and joked more than they minded the drawbridge.  The bridge itself was almost always down, except at night or when the king was paying homage to his long dead wife Queen Mary; he accepted no visitors and held no audience on the days marking her birth, her death, and their marriage, though the realm was long used to the king’s mourning.  All three of those dates were months ahead or behind, so the gates remained open and busy with wagons and visitors moving in and out of the castle.  

“C’mon, Cas!” Dean called as he weaved through the traffic on the bridge.  Once across, it was all too easy to duck underneath the gap between the bridge and the hill it rested on.  The matted grass provided them with comfort as they lounged just above where the moat’s waters lapped at the man-made shore.  This was their secret hiding place that kept them safe from being scolded by the King’s Guard or the various stewards who disliked their pranks and games.  Four years the boys had been causing trouble, though their type of trouble was rarely worse than stealing pastries from the kitchens or playing hide and seek in the closed off sections of the castle.  

“One for you, one for me.  Two for you, two for me.  Three for you, three for me.”  Dean continued to hand out the mini-pies one by one, licking his fingers occasionally.  For the last pie, he split it in half and offered Castiel the larger slice.  

The boy shook his head, letting his friend take the bigger piece.  “You like pie more than I do, anyway.”

“Thanks, Cas.”  

Together, they lounged away a good portion of the day under the bridge.  They threw stones in the moat as they ate their pies, told made up stories about pirates and mermaids, and finally, when they knew their time was almost up, made plans for the next time they could escape here.  After the sun reached its zenith, Castiel and Dean snuck back across the bridge and through the gates.  They slinked around corners, nimbly avoiding getting caught on their way back to the castle.

“Gotcha!”  Large hands closed around their shoulders and the two shrieked.  Instinct kicked in and Castiel tried to twist out of Bobby’s grip, but the knight merely picked him up by the arm and shook him.  “Would you two quit it?  I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”  Both relaxed, remembering all too well how Bobby had tanned their hides the time they let the pigs out in the great hall.  “That’ll be for the king to do.”

Of course, they’d been tanned at King John’s orders, so perhaps they shouldn’t have been comforted by the knight’s assurances in the first place.  

Leading them with an iron grip to the throne room, he scolded them the whole time for being “idjits who don’t know when to quit.”  This was the fourth kitchen raid in a fortnight, and the kitchen staff had had enough.  Without a word, Bobby dragged them before the king, who dismissed his attendants with a wave of his hand.  

“Dean.  Castiel,” he greeted them both coldly.  Castiel suppressed a whimper, never much liking the king’s anger directed his way, but Dean remained defiant.  “I hear you’ve been bothering the servants again.

“It’s no big deal-”

“I don’t remember giving you leave to speak, boy,” King John snapped as he cut Dean off.  “ _I_ will decide if it’s a big deal, and since you have been stealing from _my_ kitchens and therefore from _me_ , I have decided to take action.”

Dean looked about to protest, but he held his tongue and cast his gaze down.  “Yes, Papa.”

“I hope you boys got your fill of tarts, because the cooks have been instructed not to cook anymore for the next month.  You’re banned from the staples until I feel you’ve shown the proper respect to myself, this castle, and its staff.  This is not your playground to do as you please, this is the home of hundreds and the seat of this kingdom.  You’ll learn that or you’ll suffer the consequences.  Understood?”

“Yes, my lord.”  Though the punishment seemed moderate enough, Castiel knew all too well how deeply it would bother Dean.  He hated being cooped up in the castle walls for too long, and without leave to ride one of the fine mares or stallions kept in the stables, Dean would go stir crazy.  And that was hardly the worst of it.  Though the king probably didn’t know it, his words couldn’t have been better chosen to wound Dean.  He might like to play around, but he took his role as future king quite seriously.  His father’s lack of confidence in him, no matter how mildly stated, would plague Dean with self-doubt.  

“Good.  Now go to the kitchens and apologize.  Go on, out of my sight.”

The young prince stalked away without a look back, cursing under his breath the whole way.  

“Castiel,” the king said sternly once Dean had disappeared from the throne room.  The young boy flinched and waited for a scathing rebuke to match the one his friend just received.  Instead, he saw the king giving him a thoughtful look.  “I know the pie stealing was Dean’s idea.  Boy has his mother’s sweet tooth and my knack for getting into trouble.  That’s not why I want to speak with you, though.”

“Then why, my lord?”  If not upset about the pies, Castiel could think of no other charge the king could lay upon him.  

The king looked thoughtfully at Castiel, choosing his words carefully before speaking again.  “A good bodyguard doesn’t just give in to his liege’s every whim.  You need to know how to balance following orders and doing what’s in Dean’s best interests.  Even if it means going _against_ his wishes or his express commands.  I can’t trust you two together if you’re conflagulating and stealing from my kitchens or otherwise causing a ruckus.  There’ll be times you’ve got to be the bigger man and make a stand against Dean.  Today it’s bothering my cooks or disturbing my pigs.  Someday you might be the difference between whether Dean lives or dies, and I need you to keep your wits about you and think for yourself, be ready to make the right choice.  You understand me, son?”

Castiel nodded solemnly. He didn’t, not really, but he took every word to heart.  Dean was his best friend, and he wanted them to have fun together, but it was more important to him to see Dean alive and healthy.  If he might someday be called upon to save Dean’s life, he wanted to be in the best position possible to make sure he did just that.  

Maybe someday he’d understand the difference and know how to balance being Dean’s friend and his bodyguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Cut Scene: Missouri and Castiel**
> 
>  
> 
> Missouri was kind in how she schooled him, feeding him treats and offering him comfort for his lost father as much as she taught him how to properly address the young prince.
> 
> “But if his name is Dean, shouldn’t I call him such?”
> 
> “Oh, hon.” Missouri pat his head. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But the gods know, these kings and princes and all that have rules and formality they like to cloak themselves in so they can feel more important.”
> 
> Castiel frowned, thinking of all he’d ever heard of kings. “Aren’t they more important, though?”
> 
> “Hmmm.” The chambermaid clicked in the back of her mouth. “More important amongst men, maybe, but to the old gods we’re all the same. Born, live, die, and are forgotten. Besides, I’ve known John of Winchester since he was knee-high. I’ve seen that boy wet himself, trip down the stairs, and make a damn fool of himself courting Miss Mary. He has a mighty fine crown and fine clothing, but underneath it all he’s human just like the rest of us.”


	2. Adolescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up longer than i wanted it to (mostly because Cas learned how to masturbate and that took up some time...), but here we are! In the last chapter, we had Cas and Dean from ages 9-11, and here we have them from 12-16. Next chapter will be 16-20 or 22 ish? We'll see how that goes. And because of length changes, King John will survive til chapter four (lucky him, right?).
> 
> Please note the updated tags for this chapter, most importantly the underage tag. Cas is a minor in this portion of the fic, but he's also learning to masturbate because *of course* he is. 
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/). I'm always up for talking headcanons, squeeing about deancas, and I post ficlets there pretty much daily that don't ever make it to ao3.

After Castiel learned the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic, he joined Dean for all his lessons.  He learned more than a boy of his background could ever hope to, and he appreciated it the more he grew and the more he realized how lucky he was.  In truth, being the prince’s future bodyguard and future High Knight of the King’s Guard, he learned far more than the average knight or even noble did.  Everything a future king would need to learn, Castiel learned as well.

There were obviously different expectations set for each of them.  Castiel was trained more harshly in all manner of combat.  While Dean was given a rudimentary training in swordcraft and javelin throwing, Castiel would often continue training under Bobby’s tutelage for hours after Dean had left the courtyard.  He slowly became proficient in all manner of weapons, as well as military strategy and basic healing for the field.  It was hard and physically gruelling, but every word of praise he earned from Sir Singer made him smile and think would truly be able to protect his friend when they came of age.  

And as hard as Bobby was on Castiel, making sure his stance was right and he held his sword properly, Frank was twice as hard on Dean.  Castiel could get away with a passing understanding of history and literature, but Dean needed to be able to recite it all by rote.  When they talked about laws and treaties and the nature of other kingdoms, Castiel listened with interest but didn’t feel compelled to commit it to memory, whereas Dean took copious notes and made Castiel quiz him on it later when they were alone.  

All of it was in preparation for when Dean would start shadowing his father in council meetings and while giving audiences to the people.  That day was still far away, as they were both only twelve.  Dean did occasionally sit in on such meetings, but the expectation was for him to sit there quietly and observe; later he would be required to voice his opinion and defend any decision he made.  Dean eagerly awaited and dreaded the day he turned fourteen in equal measure, wanting to learn more but fearful that he would make the wrong decision.  Castiel spent many a night reassuring Dean he would make a wonderful king some day.

“You’ll be just and fair and wise,” Castiel whispered across the bed.  They often did this, slept in Dean’s large, plush bed.  They’d spend hours there each night, reading stories or making up their own underneath the canopy of a blanket fort they’d made together.  

“But what if I’m not,” Dean whined.  “I want to do what I can for my people, but… what if I’m not good enough?”

Reaching over to take Dean’s hand in his, Castiel smiled in the moonlight shining in through the open window.  “You will be.  I have faith in you, my prince.”

A pillow abruptly landed on Castiel and he laughed to dodge the next blow.  “I told you not to call me that,” Dean grumbled as he flung the pillows uselessly at his friend.  When he ran out of ammunition, he pouted at Cas.  

“I’m only teasing,” Castiel laughed as he put the pillows back in place.  He didn’t often use the title with Dean, only in moments when he wanted to lighten the mood and stop his prince from worrying needlessly.  “You’ll make a good king, Dean, I promise.  The fact that you worry about it is good, that means you’ll try.  We’ve read about lots of kings like King Michael and King Lucifer and Queen Naomi.  All of them just _thought_ they were going to be good at leading and none of them _tried_ , and they were _awful_.  But the ones that worried, like King Chuck and Queen Missouri, they may not have won any wars or gotten any glory or anything, but they certainly did well by their people.”

“Thanks, Cas.”  They settled back into the covers after rearranging the pillows, talking about their favorite kings and queens from history until they both fell asleep.

\- - - -

Although they spent most of their day together, Castiel enjoyed sharing the same bed as Dean.  It gave them a chance to be Cas and Dean, boys who were best friends, instead of being Castiel Novak future knight and Dean the future king of Winchester.  There was no one around to police their behavior, no lessons to be learned or rules to be followed, just two boys enjoying each other’s company.

Until one night as they were heading to their chambers, Dean abruptly stopped and looked warily at Cas.  “I don’t think you should come sleep over anymore.”

Castiel’s smile faded into a concerned frown.  “Why not?”

“I uh…” Dean wrung his hands and looked around nervously.  “I think maybe we’re too old for that kiddie stuff, right?  Sleepovers and telling stories and all that.  We’re thirteen.  Soon we’ll be going to council meetings and all that.  I think we should start acting more grown up.”

“Oh,” was all Castiel said in response.  Dean felt he’d outgrown this part of their friendship, and though Cas wanted very much to continue, he nodded and followed Dean’s lead.  He was probably right, anyway.  Grown-ups didn’t sleep in their friend’s beds.  They spent time together during the waking hours, and then enjoyed their privacy at night.

That thought stung.  Did Dean not want to see him?  Was this about his privacy, needing space away from Castiel?  Castiel would gladly spend every moment of his day in Dean’s company, yet if Dean didn’t want to..

It took him much longer than usual to fall asleep, alone in his bed with nothing but the wind whistling through his shutters for company.  Clutching his pillow tightly to his chest to mimic the feeling of having Dean nearby, Castiel tossed and turned most of the night.  He hadn’t slept so poorly since he’d first been given this room years ago.  

The next morning, it felt strange to come and fetch Dean for breakfast.  He hadn’t had to do this in years.  He was used to his first sight upon waking each morning to be Dean’s face.  He was used to going back to his chambers and changing, meeting Dean in the dining room to start their day.  The only reason he was here now was because he couldn’t bare waiting longer.  Maybe he’d get used to lonely nights, but right now he wasn’t, and he longed for Dean’s company once more.

Hesitating at the threshold, he wondered if it was okay for him to burst in or if he should knock.  He didn’t know what the protocol was anymore.  In the end, he decided that Dean likely wanted to sleep alone for privacy, and it would be rude of Castiel to intrude on that privacy without knocking first.  

His hand wrapped on the door a few times, but there was no answer.  He tried again a little louder.  Still nothing.  Dean wasn’t a particularly heavy sleeper and he often woke up before Castiel.  Curious, Cas pressed his ear to the door and listened intently.  There was a sound coming from within the room, something he couldn’t quite make out.  Whatever else was going on, his friend was clearly awake.

“Dean?” he called after knocking again.  

Another sound echoed through the wood, followed by what was clearly shuffling as Dean approached the door.  Castiel stepped back to make room (and not get caught trying to listen) and seconds later it swung open to reveal Dean.  Dean’s face was flushed and beads of sweat collected along his brow.  He was breathing heavily, or more so than he should be for someone who had just woken up, and looked pleased yet embarrassed.  

“Morning, Cas.”

“Good morning, Dean.  Did you sleep well?”

A huge smile broke out on Dean’s face, followed by his blush deepening.  “Yeah, actually.  Really _really_ well.  Hey, stay there a minute while I get dressed and we can go get something to eat, okay?”

As Cas slumped against the castle walls, he couldn’t help the sadness that washed over him.  It was selfish of him, but it hurt that his friend had gotten along so well without him.  All day Dean was full of energy, while Castiel slumped more and more in his seat.  Frank rapped firmly on his knuckles when he almost dozed off during their lessons, and he was clumsy with his sword while working with Bobby.  Maybe tonight he’d at least be able to fall asleep, too exhausted to worry about the too small bed he had all to himself.

Months went by like this: Castiel waking Dean in the morning; Dean being far too chipper throughout the day; and finally Castiel going back to spend the night alone.  Some of the sting went out of it as he grew accustomed to it, settled into their new routine, but no matter how much time passed, he still missed being apart from Dean.  

Though he began to understand his friend’s need for privacy when one morning he woke up with his cock hard and aching.  He remembered Frank’s warnings that this was likely to happen, but the whole thing was strange and he had no idea what to do about it.  Knowing it was natural, a normal part of growing up, gave him no insight on how to alleviate the problem.  He did his best to ignore the discomfort, and eventually he grew soft once more.  

As he got dressed and sought out Dean, he wondered if this was why his friend had said they could no longer share a bed.  Perhaps Dean had woken up similarly, confused at his body’s reactions and embarrassed to have it happen with Castiel so close at hand.  Castiel shuddered to think of how mortified he’d be to have Dean see the bulge in his trousers.  He suddenly felt guilty about his own hurt feelings; clearly he hadn’t taken into account Dean’s needs, and now he all too aware of why the other boy sought privacy.  

Over the course of a few weeks, Castiel woke up under similar circumstances nearly every day.  It was too much.  It was a blessing when he found his cock soft, and a burden when it wasn’t.  Feeling helpless, he finally decided to seek help.

“Gods help me, not you too,” Bobby grumbled as he put away the wooden swords away.  There was thankfully no one else within earshot, or else Castiel wouldn’t have felt comfortable approaching the older knight.  “What the hell use is Frank if he can’t teach you boys anything practical?”

Castiel frowned in confusion but said nothing.  Instead he stood there, shifting uneasily on his feet and waiting for Bobby to answer his question.

“Look…” Bobby sighed.  “You can ignore it and that’s fine, but if you want to… er… _enjoy_ it, you gotta touch yourself.”

“Oh.”  He nodded as though he understood, and Bobby started to turn away until Castiel realized he did not understand at all.  “Touch myself how?”

“Good grief.”  Bobby ran a hand over his face before motioning the boy over to explain what he meant in clipped words.  Castiel still wasn’t sure he would know how to put the words into action, but he was grateful to the knight for his help.  

Two days later he got his chance to try.  He took himself in hand and groaned in surprise at the strange but not unpleasant feel of pressure.  He focused on the feel of skin on skin as he moved and trying to take Bobby’s advice of thinking of things he liked.  Fighting.  Honey cakes.  Stargazing.  A cool bath after a day spent training.  None of them did anything to increase his enjoyment or bring relief, so he instead let his mind go blank.  He concentrated on simply _feeling_.  

Mind blank, he experimented with different amounts of pressure, different speeds as he worked his fist over his cock.  Soon he found a balance he liked and gradually he felt a tightening in his lower abdomen.  Excited, he chased that feeling.  Head thrown back on his pillow, he panted as he worked himself over.  

An errant thought occurred to him: is this what Dean did, now that he had his bed to himself at night?  Did he wake up hard and touch himself to bring much needed relief?  Did he prefer his hand fast or slow?  How else did he touch himself?  Did his fingers ghost farther down to brush along his balls?  What sounds did he make?  What did he think about-?

“Ohhh,” he gasped as he came all over his hand and pants.  Once he calmed down, he began to clean himself off and tried to process the whole experience.  It was still strange, but the end result had been quite pleasurable.  He’d definitely try that again.

Looking to see how far up the sun had climbed in the sky, Castiel realized he was late to breakfast.  Maybe he wouldn’t do it _every_ morning, though.  Not if it took up this much time.

Gradually, though, he learned to bring himself to orgasm faster.  He didn’t masturbate often, but when he did, he often found himself going back to thoughts of Dean.  Dean without his tunic.  Dean, covered in sweat after a vigorous lesson of swordplay in the courtyard.  Dean in bed.  His absolute favorite fantasy is to imagine them both in Dean’s bed, the way they used to be, but touching themselves.  Breathy moans and encouraging words as they both approached their climax-

He never lasted long when he imagined that fantasy.

\- - - -

Dean turned fourteen and that very day he was invited to his first official privy council meeting.  He had his own seat at the table, directly to his father’s left.  Castiel’s attendance was also required, though he gets no seat.  His role is to stand at Dean’s back and keep quiet, like Bobby does for King John.  Just as Dean was learning about his future role as king, Castiel was practicing for his job as bodyguard.  

As the council discussed how to best settle a dispute with the northern tribes on the farthest reaches of Winchester’s borders, Dean’s opinion was sought for the first time in this room.  He fidgeted, cowed momentarily by the stern looks of the council members.  Castiel couldn’t see it, but he imagined Dean visibly collecting himself as he sat up straight and gave his answer.  “If their complaint is the tribute they need pay when the enter our lands, why not lower it?  Surely the armed conflicts there are not worth whatever money we gain?”

“And _how_ would you propose we make up the loss of funds?” asked an older man - Merv, if Castiel wasn’t mistaken - before realizing just whom he’d been addressing.  “My lord,” he added with an overdone bow of his head.  

“Well,” Dean replied, gaining confidence the more he spoke, “we spend quite a bit of gold policing the border.  If the armed attacks go down, we need not employ as many knights there.  And if it costs less to enter and do trade, would that not encourage more of it?”

And then, still a boy seeking his father’s approval, he turned to his father.  “Right?”

John smiled indulgently at his son.  “Boy’s right.  We’ll give it a try.  Unless anyone’s got an objection to the prince’s plan?”

No one did, and the meeting continued.  

Castiel was proud of Dean and how he conducted himself, pleased and impressed at the regal air his friend had throughout the meeting.  Yet as soon as they were alone again, Dean started trembling.  

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, arms open to offer his friend the comfort he needed.  

Dean collapsed into the embrace and whimpered.  “That’s so stressful.  All those eyes on me, the pressure to give the right answer, even though there might not _be_ a right answer at all…  I don’t know how my father can bear it each day.  I don’t know _I_ will bear it.”

“It’ll get easier.”  He rubbed circles on Dean’s back, right between the shoulder blades.  The prince relaxed further into the touch, and Castiel was gratified that he could help him.  “You’re still new to this, and it’ll take some getting used to.  That’s why you’re learning now, when your father is there to help.  You can do this.”

They remained like that for some time, until Dean finally pulled away.  “Thanks, Cas.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It took some time, but Dean eventually stopped dreading but rather looking forward to council meetings and audiences with the public.  He had a knack for this type of decision making, a way with words when talking to his subjects, and each successful encounter further bolstered Dean’s confidence.  Less often did he seek Castiel’s comfort afterwards, though there were still times anxiety gripped him and only Castiel’s encouraging words could soothe his worries.  

Soon Samuel, the young prince, turned ten and began shadowing his brother for lessons on statesmanship.  Though he wouldn’t become king himself, he was still a prince and would need to know these things.  He might be called upon to serve as ambassador to another land or to mediate a dispute between bickering lords, and everything that Dean had learned, Sam would need to know as well.

Castiel thought it quite adorable the way he would trail after his brother during the council meetings he was allowed to attend.  He was not yet allowed to speak, but he would occasionally pull at his older brother’s sleeve and whisper into his ear.  With Dean as his proxy, the clever boy still managed to be heard.  Castiel had always been fond of the boy, and he liked seeing him more, now that he often joined them for lessons with Frank.  

The only time he’d ever have to regret Sam’s presence was one fateful day in late summer.  The king sat on his throne, one son on either side of him as they heard petitions from their subjects.  Castiel and Bobby bookended them on the dais, ostensibly to keep watch but Castiel was growing more and more tired in the stifling heat.  He wasn’t sure he would be able to remain standing much longer and prayed to any listening god that the last few requests were brief.  What he wouldn’t give to retreat to the baths, to get out of this damn armor and sink into cool water.  

Later, he would blame his distraction for not reacting faster.  

A pair of peasants approached the throne, bowing deeply as he spoke of stolen pigs one moment and then dove at the king with blades drawn the next.  Barely delaying, Bobby stepped in and slashed down one of the men.  The king drew his own dagger as he moved to shield young Sam, completely guardless because of his youth and position as younger son.  Instinct took over as Castiel moved to block Dean from the other attacker, his sword coming out in time to stop the downward stroke of his ax.  

If he’d been a second slower, Dean would be dead.  

Bobby took over, grabbing the man by his shirt and throwing him to the ground before beheading him with a single blow.  

The rest of the king’s guard rushed forward and cleared everyone out of the castle.  A few men and women were lead to the guard’s keep for questioning.  Samuel sobbed onto his father’s shoulder, shaking so badly the king could barely hold onto him as they retreated from the large hall.  Bobby shadowed them, glaring murder at anyone who so much as twitched and keeping his sword drawn.   

Dean and Castiel followed a few paces behind, but as soon as they were out of sight Dean dragged him into an alcove.  

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel sobbed as he fell to the ground in a heap.  If he’d been a hair slower…  If only he’d been paying more attention instead of daydreaming like a damn _child_!  

“Cas,” Dean pleaded, hands cradling his face and stroking Castiel’s cheeks with his thumbs.  “Cas, listen to me… I’m fine.  Sammy’s fine.  Dad’s fine.  You stopped anything from happening.  I don’t want you going through what if’s.  There’s no what if’s here.  You did your job.  I’m alive because of you.”

“But-”

“No.  Stop.  That’s an order.”  The panic threatening to overtake him receded at Dean’s words.  “Breathe with me, okay?  In and out.  In and out…  That’s it, Cas, keep going…  In and out...”  Dean guided him until he felt the last of his tremors subside.  “You did so good, Cas.”

“But weren’t you scared?  I almost…  I wasn’t paying attention and you almost...”

“Terrified,” Dean admitted.  “I’ve heard about assassination attempts, but I never thought I’d _see_ one…  I froze, but you didn’t.  When it counted, you were there and you saved me.  Remember that, okay?  You saved my life.”

Cas swore right then and there that he’d never be too slow.  He would _die_ for Dean if he had to, but no one would hurt him.  Not under his watch.  

They stayed like that, holding each other until Bobby found them.  The old man didn’t comment on how he found them, simply lead them deeper into the castle’s protective walls.  Holed up with numerous guards, the boys spent most of their time trying to comfort Sam while the king worked with his men to find out what had happened.  

There was but one other man in the party of those men, and he’d been caught and questions.  Apparently they were disgruntled farmers from the north.  Their home had been pillaged by the northern tribes, and they were angry that the king was pulling back troops.  They resented him and had planned to kill him to make up for the losses they’d suffered.  

Even with the danger past them, it took Dean and Castiel in particular some time to relax.  Despite everything, Dean was clearly ill at ease in the audience chambers.  Castiel did his best to be vigilant each time, and his calm radiated outward and eventually allowed Dean to relax.  He used Castiel’s strength as his own, and soon he was back to normal.  

For his part, Castiel threw himself into his training.  He would not allow would-be assassins another chance at hurting Dean.  Castiel became all too aware that he and Dean weren’t equal, and that realization followed on the heels of another, far more important one: he was responsible both to and for Dean.  

\- - - -

On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, Castiel is formally accepted as a knight of the king’s guard.  His training is officially complete, and the King rewards him with a custom set of armor.  It was of fine polished steel, engraved with his family’s crest and protective sigils.  There was no more magic to be found in these lands, but the symbols of the old gods were comforting.  Castiel was still growing and would likely need to be fitted with a new one in a few years, yet he was touched by the gesture and show of faith from the king.  He’d wear the armor proudly, of that he was certain.  

The knighting ceremony took place in the audience hall with Castiel kneeling before King John.  Although traditionally it was the king who knighted men and women, Dean had begged that he get the honor.  It took little needling on Dean’s part before his father relented, passing the bejeweled broadsword over to Dean.  It was ancient and rusted in parts - unsurprising given that it had belonged to the first king of Winchester and was centuries old - but its symbolic power remained.  Almost every knight had been felt its ancient weight on their shoulders, and Castiel beamed in pride when it was his turn.  

Afterward, all the King’s Guard were invited to a banquet with the royal family.  Castiel was given a place of honor next to the king, though it didn’t seem like much of an honor; he normally sat next to Dean, and in truth the youths had only switched spots for an evening, but tradition dictated the placement and Castiel wasn’t about to argue the point.  Not when he was offered first choice in meat, the finest wine, and honeyed pastries made just for him.  

The king bid him adieu, handing him off to Bobby as the other knights left the dining hall.  Castiel and Dean shared a confused look as he was dragged away.  

“Where are we going?” he asked, the pleasant buzz he’d been nurturing throughout dinner fading as adrenaline rushed through him.

“The king’s got his traditions, and we’ve got ours.  C’mon, son, the night’s young yet.”

Their first stop was at the inker, who striped Castiel’s arm bare and made a mark on the unblemished flesh of his bicep.  It wasn’t meant as a test, but Castiel faced it as one; he remained perfectly still as the needle pierced him again and again, etching the king’s seal in red ink.  

“Be proud of that mark, son” Rufus, one of the other knights, said.  “Not many men get to wear it.”

The ink needle had barely been pulled from his skin when they were dragging him to his feet and leading him outside the castle walls.  Since first coming here so many years ago, Castiel had barely gone into the village surrounding the castle.  He’d left the protection of the walls on numerous occasions, either to play with Dean or for riding lessons.  The village itself was a mystery, a place where he hadn’t be allowed without escort until he was fourteen, and even then it held nothing to capture his interest.  Unless there was a fair or traveling bard, he’d rather stay in the castle.  

That did not mean he wasn’t aware of what the other castle staff did when they crossed the drawbridge leading out.  Their group beelined for the nearest tavern, and Castiel resigned himself to a night of heavy drinking.  Cheap mead was on constant supply for him, as the man of honor on that occasion, and within an hour he was on that dangerous cusp between pleasantly intoxicated and full out inebriated.  

“It’s true, you know,” Gordon continued, and Castiel frowned when he realized he was mid-conversation and couldn’t for the life of him remember the topic.  “As a knight, you could bed any barmaid here who caught your eye.  Go ahead, point out any girl you’d like and I’ll help you charm her.  Any girl at all.”

“Or boy,” Jesse and Cesar said in unison.  

Gordon rolled his eyes but amended his earlier declaration.  “Yes, or boy.  Any at all, no one will refuse a man freshly knighted.”

Castiel followed Gordon’s sweeping hand.  His vision swam and he could hardly track the movement, but he was fairly confident there was none here who piqued his interest.  Even the pretty barmaid who’d winked at him earlier, the one with the lovely plush lips and beautiful steel blue eyes, hadn’t stirred any remote trace of arousal in him.  

“Uh, no thank you,” he said while drinking the rest of his mead, hoping to hid behind the enormous tankard.  

“No?” Gordon scoffed.  “There are a half-dozen young, beautiful barmaids here who would _love_ the chance to bed a knight.  And that serving boy, he seems attractive enough.”  He looked quickly to Jesse who nodded his confirmation.  “See!  Take your pick, Castiel, and we’ll make sure it happens.  Hell, I’ll pay for the room myself!”

“Thank you, I’m uh… not interested?”

“Not interested!?” Gordon laughed incredulously.  “Did you hear that?  He’s not interested.  Who are you fucking at the castle, that you can be so picky here?”

Castiel tried very hard not to look guilty or think of green eyes.  There was no reason for either; he was not intimate with Dean, nor was he sure he wanted to be.  It was simply a convenient fantasy, one that stirred more interest than he could account for.  

“Leave the boy alone,” Rufus said as he took a seat next to Cas, replacing his empty tankard with a full one.  “He said he ain’t interested, he ain’t interested.”

“That _boy_ is sixteen and a knight in his own right.  He’s a man-”

“And being a man and sticking your dick in places don’t go hand in hand.  It’s his night, let him enjoy it how he wants to.”

“Fine,” Gordon conceded before wiping off his mouth.  “But then I’m going to bed that pretty red-head.”

The rest of the evening passed with more drinking, some singing, and at one point Bobby was drunk enough that he and Rufus climbed up onto the tables and did a jig.  Castiel and the other knights applauded in delight, even though they sung off key and spilled a whole tray of honey mead.  It was an amazing evening, one that lasted until the tavern sadly closed and they were sent back to the castle.  Some of the knights suggested continuing the festivities in the keep, but Castiel and most of the others declined.  They headed their separate ways, Castiel to his room and the others to the barracks.

When he was finally in his own bed, half-drunk and half-hard, he gave in to temptation.  Ever since Gordon’s suggestion of bedding someone (and with the help of more drinks), Castiel had not been able to resist thinking of Dean.  Dean beneath him, over him, _in_ him, no matter how impossible that last wish might be.  

He undid his pants and stroked himself lazily.  Halfway through, he stopped to pull off his shirt and eye the tender skin of his tattoo.  The king’s seal, the seal of Dean’s family, would forever be emblazoned on his skin to show his loyalty and commitment.  A visible sign of the oath he’d taken and of the love he held in his heart for Dean.  Brotherly love, of course.  He always felt the need to clarify that, even when it was only to himself.

Fingering the edges of the mark, he continued to stroke his cock.  His head swam with thoughts of Dean, of showing him the tattoo the next day.  Proudly showing it off.  Wondering if Dean would trace the lines - gently, of course, and mindful of how it would sting Castiel - and smile at him.  All too soon, he came across his chest.  Tired from a long day and the alcohol still coursing through him, Castiel fell asleep before even getting a chance to clean himself up.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Bobby who killed the other attacker so fourteen year old Cas wouldn't have to kill someone when he's so young.


	3. Women and Marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaay! an update :) this one's a little behind schedule because i started playing mass effect last week so that's where a lot of time has gone lately. i've also had to dedicate some writing time to my dystopia big bang, leaving lot a whole lot of time for other projects. though if you're looking for some destiel ficlets as a fix, i do write about a ficlet a day - come visit me on [tumblr](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) to find them :)
> 
> also, as it likely comes as no surprise to anyone except me that the story is turning out longer than expected lol. i thought *next* chapter would get me some dean/cas smut but i need to do some more worldbuilding first so... two chapters from now? *pretends to actually know*

With Castiel’s introduction to manhood came other reminders that he and Dean were no longer the children they sometimes pretended to be. Lessons and training and service in their future jobs more and more took over the time they had for sneaking away. Long gone were the days the boys could spend hours in each other’s company without someone dragging one or the other away.

This came as no surprise to either Castiel or Dean, but it still aggravated them. Dean more so than him; if the other boy felt he hasn't gotten adequate time with his best friend out younger brother, he'd quietly sulk and plot revenge in the form of pranks. The castle staff soon learned to leave the boys be when Dean got that look in his eyes, the one that spelled mischief for anyone who tried to separate them. It only took a few instances of missing items or dyed hair for someone to learn the lesson.

(And of course for Dean to earn a talking to from his father. It was one thing to be upset, it was another to take it out on those merely doing their jobs. The number of pranks went down dramatically after that, though Dean’s sourness went on unabated.)

That fall they saw the least of each other they ever had; the knights of the King's Guard took advantage of the cooler weather and ran drills for days on end in the fields a few miles from the castle. As a full fledged Knight, Castiel now had the privilege of attending. Well, perhaps privilege was the wrong word, since it was his duty and the whole thing lost its charm quickly. The tents were small and drafty, particularly in the rain, and he lacked the privacy to even piss on his own. Even so, he enjoyed the camaraderie and preened under every word of praise he received.

The only thing he truly missed about the castle was Dean. Castiel would often go days without seeing some of the other knights, except of course Bobby, and even young Samuel wasn’t a fixed part of his daily routine. Not like Dean, whom he shadowed to all council meetings and gatherings in the audience chamber. No matter what else their schedules might entail, his day always included time with Dean. Not nearly enough, but _something._

Thinking about Dean made him at best melancholy and at worst despondent. He missed his friend, but he also hated to think of Dean’s protection being in the hands of stand-ins. Jo or Gordon would be standing silently behind him, dutifully watching those who sought to speak with His Majesty and the princes. Would they be as watchful as Castiel was? Most likely not; they hadn’t been there when those men had tried to kill the king. They hadn’t had to live being the only thing standing between Dean and a knife to the cut. They hadn’t-

“Castiel,” Bobby interrupted his thoughts as he poked into the tent Castiel shared with Rufus and Max. “Pack your things, you’re heading back to the castle.”

Obediently, he jumped out of bed and started getting his armor and personal effects together. “When do we head back?”

“Ain’t no _we_ in this. The rest of us are staying another couple days to finish up some drills. You’re going back whenever you’re ready.”

Castiel froze with his bedding halfway rolled up. Was he in trouble? If none of the other knights were being sent back, surely that must mean he’d done _something_ wrong.

“You’re not in trouble,” Bobby said with no small amount of exasperation. Cas started, wondering how the old knight could’ve possibly known what he was thinking. “What? You look like a kicked puppy, ain’t nothing hard to read in that. You’re not going back ‘cuz you’re in trouble or anything. You’re going back because the prince was causing a ruckus and King John figured it was easier to bring you back than keep minding that boy’s manners.”

“Oh.” That was a relief. That he wasn’t in trouble, anyway, not that Dean was being difficult. “I can head back within the hour.”

“See that you do.” Bobby was about to leave when he turned back around and pointed a stern figure at Castiel. “You tell that idjit to stop making such a fuss. It doesn’t bode well to have a prince being all temperamental. Not that John hasn’t had his fair share of moments, but still.”

“I’ll let him know.” Though he would probably edit out the word _idjit_ ; even if he were quoting someone else, Castiel felt it would be unseemly to refer to the prince in such a way.

“You better.”

In an effort not to seem overeager, Castiel took his time not only packing but stopping to eat lunch first. Everyone expressed their dismay that Cas had to leave early, though some rolled their eyes at the news and made jests with each other.

“Looks like the prince needs extra _protection_.”

“The prince has a few hand-to-hand _positions_ he’d like to try.”

“He clearly needs Castiel’s assistance with a _difficult_ matter.”

“Fuck, Gordon, you had _one_ job. You couldn’t have said _hard_ instead?”

Their laughter followed Castiel as he left the large tent set up for meals and headed to collect his things. Whatever his comrades were getting at, he was sure the joke was at his or Dean’s expense. It was better not to give them the satisfaction of letting them see him flustered. Or worse yet, realizing he did not understand their meaning.

The ride back to the castle was uneventful. He followed the main road and saw many peasants and travelers going about their business, but none made him much mind. Once he entered the city surrounding the castle walls, some of the merchants recognized him and tipped their heads in greeting, yet it was still a lonely trek through the winding, cobbled streets that lead to the drawbridge.

Something akin to relief coursed through him when he crossed the moat and entered the familiar courtyard; it wasn’t as though he felt uneasy when away from the castle, but there was something to be said for coming home. Aside from the obvious conveniences like his own room and a dedicated cooking staff instead of volunteer knights and squires, there was an intangible quality to the castle that made his heart swell with joy each time he returned to it.

And made it tighten uncomfortably whenever he thought of the alternatives: if King John hadn’t allowed him to stay, if he’d proven an unworthy companion and bodyguard for Dean, if he’d _failed_ to stop that attack years ago—

None of that warranted more of his time than he’d already given it. Castiel very forcibly pushed away such thoughts and continued his way to the stables. He’d barely dismounted and gotten the saddle off his mare when a stablehand took over.

“The Prince wants you to see you in his chambers,” the boy said. “I’ll have your things sent to your room.”

“Thank you.” Although Castiel liked grooming his own horse and in no way found it bothersome to mind his own bags, he couldn’t help but be amused. Dean really was as impatient as Bobby had suspected, and he couldn’t wait to tease his friend.

Though he probably wouldn’t mention the comments the knights had made. Bobby being gruff with the young prince was one thing; common soldiers in his employ speaking impertinently of their liege was normal, but not something Castiel wanted to pass on to Dean. Especially since he was sure there was something about their jokes that he didn’t get. He might not know _what_ they were alluding to, yet there was an instinctive drive to not share it.

The prince’s room was at the top of a tower overlooking the eastern side of the castle; his windows faced away from the entrance and most of the city. It was quite scenic, with mountains in the distance and views of the forests and farmsteads that began a few miles out from the last edges of the city. It was a far cry from the pitifully small window in Castiel’s own room. Every time he saw it, Castiel missed the nights he spent here and the mornings he woke up to sunlight bathing them in golden rays.

Those windows were now open, and Dean sat at the edge. Even from behind, Castiel could tell the prince was upset; his back was a firm line of tension and his shoulders were hunched uncomfortably. Just seeing Dean made Castiel want to rub soothing hands into the taught muscles and force them to relax. It was, of course, not his place to do so.

“Hello, Dean,” he said as he stepped into the familiar room. “Bobby wants me to tell you to stop—”

“Being a whiny idjit? Yeah, I figured.” Although the prince had jumped in surprise when he first heard Castiel, he’d clearly relaxed a little now that his friend was here. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your knight training thing, but I need you here for emotional support.”

Castiel immediately sobered up. Guilt that he’d taken Dean’s request so lightly flooded through him, but he quashed it. There was no time for self-serving emotions like guilt or shame; he needed to find out what was wrong. “Emotional support? Has something happened? Is someone hurt?”

“What? No! Nothing like that.”

Quirking his head to the side, Castiel frowned. “Then why did you request I come back early?”

“Because!” Dean walked over to close the large door to the room, though not before looking around the corridor to make sure they were still alone—they were—and then leaned against the door. Looking unreasonably serious, he whispered, “Lisa and Meg are coming.”

“Oh.” Castiel blinked a few times, unable to see how that could possibly warrant his presence for ‘emotional support.’ Lisa and Meg were cousins, noble ladies raised by Sir Braeden. Though technically a member of the King’s court and council, Sir Braeden spent most of his time on his family estate by the western shore. He visited no more than once a year and never for more than a few weeks at a time, and always brought his daughter Lisa and his niece Meg. Although they saw each other so rarely, Castiel had always enjoyed their visits. When they were younger, it was always nice to have new playmates, and as they grew older, Castiel loved to hear about the comings and goings of ships at the harbor he’d never seen.

For his part, Dean had also seemed to enjoy the visits. Dean and Meg were both troublemakers at heart, and they’d gotten into lots of mischief together until they’d outgrown it. Not that Castiel was convinced either had _truly_ outgrown it, but Meg claimed her flowing skirts made it too difficult to run away and hide. Lisa wasn’t quite as lively as her cousin, but she was kind and very smart, willing to discuss all sorts of books and literature with the boys. Many a night had ended with Dean and Lisa spiritedly debating an ancient war or interpretation of a text.

In short, they were friends. Who were visiting. This was happy news, yet Dean looked incredibly unnerved by it.

“Oh!?” Dean repeated, baffled at Castiel’s lack of reaction. “That’s all you’ve got to say about this?”

“I don’t understand how that’s relevant to your current distress. They’ve visited many times before.”

Granted, they hadn’t seen the girls in going on two years. Sir Braeden preferred to come during the winter when the shores were gloomy and plagued with strong winds and frequent gales. The last few winters, however, had been marked with early and frequent snow storms, making travel difficult. Even though they hadn’t seen their friends in some time, Castiel looked forward to it. He’d not yet been a knight when they’d last met, and he was eager to show off his new armor and sword. Meg especially would take a delight in it, having long ago made up her mind she liked knights better than the other nobles she was often forced to dote upon.

“Do you really not—Cas, you’ve gotta—I’m not imagining this, okay!?”

“Of course you’re not,” Castiel said with a slight note of condescension, laughing at Dean’s answering pout. He sat on the plush bedspread and faced Dean, who still stood by the door like he could bar entry to his problems if he kept careful enough watch. “I don’t know _what_ you are upset about, but I’m sure it is certainly worth me rushing back.”

“Ugggh.” Dean hung his head and sighed deeply. Only a few strides and he was next to Castiel on the bed, collapsing onto it and staring at the canopy above. “I said I was sorry about that.”

“And I forgive you. What’s wrong?”

Dean collected his thoughts, fingers thumbing the embroidery on his sheets and feet kicking idly against the side of the bed. “I think my father wants me to marry Lisa. Or Meg. Probably Lisa, since he’s friends with her dad. Not even sure _who_ Meg’s parents are. But one of them for sure, though.”

Castiel’s whole world narrowed down to the size of a pin. King John wanted Dean to marry Lisa. It made sense. She was only a year younger than him. At seventeen and eigteen, they were already at a marriageable age. Most nobles tended to wait longer than that to get married, but the time was ripe for a courtship. They got along well. Her father was well respected, her family line with generations of service to the crown. And they were wealthy, a powerful family that secured Winchester’s eastern border and port cities.

No matter how he looked at it, Castiel had to agree with King John’s choice. Lisa was a good prospect for Dean, more than worthy enough to be a future queen.

Castiel couldn’t muster much enthusiasm at the prospect. Jealousy gripped his heart, as unfair as it was. He held no claim to Dean or his affection. The fantasies he indulged in almost nightly were just that: an indulgence. Images of Dean, his green eyes darkened with lust and his lips plump from kisses, often accompanied Castiel as he fell asleep. Even if he didn’t touch himself, thoughts of Dean were a surefire way to lure him to sleep. All he ever wanted was the chance to have Dean in his bed, to get his hands and his mouth on him and—

It didn’t matter; for all he might want to share and experience those desires during his waking hours, Castiel knew better. Not once had Dean expressed interest in men, and Castiel didn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable. His longing had no place in this moment or any other that wasn’t under cover of darkness and when he was in the privacy of his own room, so he pushed it aside. He had no right to those feelings, the bitter envy that coursed through him at the thought of Dean in another’s arms. His responsibility was to Dean: his safety and happiness and well-being.

His own happiness wasn’t part of the equation.

“Oh,” he said, repeating his rather inelegant reply once more.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Oh.”

“And you’re… upset by this prospect?”

With a half-shrug, Dean kept his eyes on the canopy as he mechanically answered, “Yes.”

“You dislike Lisa…?”

“No. It’s just—I’m only eigteen! I thought I’d have more time before I had to… get married or do other king stuff.”

“So you _want_ to marry Lisa?”

“I don’t not want to, but I don’t _want_ to. I-I just—ugh!” Dean rolled over and buried his face in his arms. His next words were muffled despite the intensity with which he spoke them, forcing Castiel to lean closer to pick them out. “I didn’t think I’d have to be thinking about this so soon. I knew I’d have to marry _someone_ someday, but I didn’t really think about _who_ or _when_.”

Castiel had also known these things, and he too had neglected to consider the details.

“How long until they arrive?”

“Any moment now, I suspect. Why do you think I said it was an emergency?”

“I see.” Castiel could ignore his own discomfort—the source of which he wasn’t particularly eager to analyze, though he chose to call it protectiveness for his friend—but Dean’s was harder to bear. “I’ll do what I can to help, though there’s not much I _can_ do if this is the king’s will.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Just…” He turned so his face was no longer hidden; his eyes shown brightly with concern as he begged his best friend for help. “Just be there. You being there’ll help… deflect some of the attention. I don’t wanna be stuck alone with Lisa.”

Lisa and Dean had spent ample time alone with each other over their youths. If they got married, they would be required to do so at length. Castiel wisely chose not to voice either of these facts.

“Of course, Dean. I’ll do what I can.” It should be easy enough, considering his job was literally to shadow Dean and watch out for him. Unless Dean actively _tried_ to be alone with Lisa, there’d be no reason for the two to be apart during most of the day. “But,” he added, “if you should change your mind—”

“I won’t,” Dean said stubbornly.

“Mmhmm. But if you do, you need only say the words.”

For reasons unknown, he hoped Dean didn’t.

The sound of a trumpet’s blare could be heard through the open window, heralding the arrival of important guests. Dean whined wordlessly before pushing off the bed. “Duty calls, I guess.”

Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder and bid him farewell. For visitors like Sir Braeden, there’d be a ceremonial welcome. Although Dean was already perfectly coiffed and wearing his best garb, Castiel smelled of the stables and a week’s worth of grueling activity. He would need to bathe and polish his armor before he’d be suitable to be seen as the prince’s bodyguard.

Even so, Castiel arrived in the banquet hall before Dean. Sir Braeden was joking with King John at the head of the table as they drank generously from their goblets. There was no one else there aside, of course, an assortment of guards; as the older men beckoned Castiel over and gave him a generous helping of wine, he acutely felt the loss of both Dean and Bobby. If only John had called his bodyguard back as well, Castiel wouldn’t feel so out of place with the two lords.

Meg and Lisa arrived soon after him, having needed time to freshen up after their long journey, and immediately rescued him from Sir Braeden and the king. It wasn’t quick enough to save Castiel from being grilled for the details of his recent training exploits, but he gladly took the opportunity to attend on the ladies instead.

“It’s good to see you again, Castiel,” Lisa said with a slight curtsey. It was an unnecessary nod to decorum—not only was Castiel not of noble blood, he and Lisa were friends after a fashion—but he followed her lead and bowed slightly.

“It’s good to see you as well.” While not strictly true, it wasn’t _un_ true. However Castiel felt about the situation, he did not dislike Lisa.

 _She’s even more stunning than the last time I saw her. The years have been kind to her, and she looks very fine with womanly curves_.

Not that the female form did much to excite Castiel, but he could appreciate her beauty. She wore a lovely red dress embroidered with her family’s sigil in gold and silver. The bodice perfectly highlighted her figure, and a golden headband held back her dark ringlets. The dark red of her ruby earrings sparkled with each turn of her head as they caught the light. There was undoubtedly something regal in her appearance—likely by design, if Dean’s assumptions were true—that Castiel couldn’t help but admire.

“Ahem,” Meg coughed loudly.

“And of course you too, Meg.” She rewarded him with a beatific smile and offered her hand to him. He took it and dutifully placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “You’re both a welcome sight,” he added, the sentiment more genuine now that it included Meg.

“We’d better be,” Meg teased. Meg was the same as always, though perhaps an inch taller or two. She was still a head shorter than Castiel, and he suspected the difference would only become more exaggerated as he continued to grow. Her outfit was much more modest than her cousins, without the flagrant displays of wealth and station, though somehow far _less_ modest as well: the neckline dipped far lower, the sleeves weren’t nearly so long, and she had far fewer skirts amassed around her waist.

How very Meg, he couldn’t help but think.

“I’d heard they’d made a knight out of you,” she purred, stepping forward to trace the line of his armor up to the chain of his ceremonial cloak. She was so close he caught a hint of the faint scent of rosewater she’d always favored. “Anyone make a man out of you yet?”

Lisa choked back a laugh as Castiel frowned, though before he could answer the strange question, there was a loud clatter at the other end of the room. All three of them looked up to see Dean grimacing and rubbing his foot as he backed away from the table.

“I uh… I bumped into the table.” Pink dotted his cheeks and made his freckles stand out. “I didn’t see it.”

“This table right here?” Meg drawled out as she knocked on the thick wood. The table was of dark mahogany and took up a great deal of the impressive hall. The idea that Dean hadn’t seen the table was preposterous, and Castiel frowned in concern. “Seems like an awful big thing to miss.”

“Yeah well…” Obviously flustered, Dean looked everywhere but at them. He rubbed the back of his neck idly and muttered, “Guess I was distracted.”

Meg cackled darkly as she put an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “I’ll bet you were. Lots of distractions here about, I don’t know how you manage to get anything done.”

Dean choked on air, backing up into a chair and cursing as he nearly fell over. Castiel tilted his head in curiosity, looking at Meg’s knowing smile and Dean’s lack of composure at a complete loss.

“Are you alright?” Lisa asked as she daintily stepped over to check on Dean. She rested a hand on his shoulder

“I’m fine.” The blush deepening on his cheeks belied the assertion and suddenly Castiel understood the situation with complete clarity. Dean had entered the room, seen how Lisa’s beauty and blossomed in her two year absence, and been so overcome by it that he’d walked right into the table unwittingly.

His blood ran cold and there was an overwhelming need to put _distance_ between himself and the happy couple before him. Only his promise to Dean kept him rooted in place, though he couldn’t help the way his jaw locked and his body become a hard, rigid line. Meg, sensing his tension, pressed more closely to his side and he did his best to relax into the comfort his friend was offering.

The four of them chatted, Lisa and Meg catching the boys up on their adventures at port (including Meg’s tryst with a sailor named Gavin). By the time it was Dean and Cas’ turn to talk about what they’d experienced at court (“I heard there was an attempt on your life. That must have been dreadful!” Lisa said with earnest concern. Dean had clammed up at that, and it had been left to Castiel to describe the event.), Dean had relaxed noticeably. He wasn’t completely at ease—he kept dropping things as his hands fidgeted relentlessly with anything within reach—but it was a far cry from walking into a table.

Sam arrived just as dinner was set to be served, accompanied by council members and other royal guests. Dean and Sam sat at the head of the table with their father, but at such an informal gathering as this, the rest of the seats were left for anyone to claim. Lisa sat next to Dean, sandwiching the prince between her and her father, and King John gave an approving smile. Dean shot Cas a meaningful look, but before he could take the nearest seat, Meg pulled him almost clear across the table.

“Let the old men talk. Uncle Braeden never shuts up—he’ll drone on and on, and with the king here to indulge him, he’ll be insufferable. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

Castiel watched as all the places near Dean were claimed. Shoulders slumped in defeat, he let Meg choose their spot and nearly fell into his seat as she directed him towards it. He caught Dean’s eye across the divide and shrugged in apology. Dean nodded slightly in acknowledgement, then put on his best, fake smile as he turned back to Lisa.

Although he did his best to give Meg his full attention, Castiel couldn’t help it from wandering back to Dean. A dozen emotions warred for dominance, but the main ones were easy enough to pinpoint. Guilt that he’d not been able to stay near Dean, when Dean had specifically asked that of him, and envy that Lisa was in a position Castiel… well not one that Castiel coveted, per se, but one that Castiel longed to experience. To have a chance with Dean, even for a moment, would be amazing.

He did his best to keep up conversation with Meg, all the while staring longingly at Dean and wishing they were just a _little_ closer.

“You know,” Meg started, “I’ve always liked a man in uniform. Though I’ve actually always been curious to see a man in uniform _out_ of uniform. See how strong they are underneath all that armor..”

It took all of five seconds for Castiel to parse what Meg had said, and then to add in the meaning hidden beneath those words. When he did, his head snapped back to give Meg his full attention. “Was that a flirtation?”

“It was if you wanted it to be.”

He reconsidered all their interactions today: the wide smile and appreciative looks; the close proximity and the casual touches; the possessive way she’d claimed him during dinner.

Oh.

“Meg…”

“We putting the cards on the table? Yes, Castiel, it was a flirtation. I like you. Dean’s fun and all, but there’s something about the idea of rolling around with you in the stables that gets me all tingly.” Her hand found his thigh beneath the cover of the table. “So what do you say, Cas? When you gonna let me steal you away from dinner to have some fun?”

Castiel’s head was fuzzy, overcome with the picture she’s painted for him. The two of them, naked or near enough as not to matter, in an empty stall in the stable. They kept watch, made sure no one was with them but the horses; with the place to themselves, they could be as loud as they wanted. The straw would be coarse and scratchy, but Meg would insist on lying on it and throw Castiel’s cloak aside when he tried to set it out for her. It’d be rough, with bites and marks and—

And in all honesty, Castiel didn’t want any of it. He’d rather have that moment with Dean, and since Dean was never to be his, Castiel didn’t want it with anyone else. Even his limp cock agreed, completely uninterested in the imagined scenario.

“Never, I’m afraid.” He grabbed Meg’s hand under the table, holding it for a moment before removing it. “Although I value our friendship, I don’t think—”

“You don’t see it as anything _more_ ,” she supplied and then sighed. Within seconds, her momentary disappointment turned into an exaggerated pout. “Aw, Clarence, you break a girl’s heart.” Clarence was the nickname from the folklore in her area, a name she only used when she wanted to show she wasn’t really angry at him. It was a relief to know she wasn’t upset he’d refused her; brief though their encounters were, he’d hate to lose her friendship.

Though if Dean and Lisa married, perhaps they’d be seeing a lot more of each other.

“I’m glad I haven’t upset you.”

She gave a coy smile over the rim of her goblet as she took a sip of her wine. A few drops clung to her bottom lip, and as her tongue dipped out to lap them up. Castiel knew that if Dean did the same, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else, yet with Meg he noted the action but otherwise paid it no mind.

“You really aren’t interested, are you?” She looked at him like he was a particularly interesting specimen. “I’ve never had a guy turn me down. Though in this case, I can’t say I’m all that surprised.”

“Why not?”

Before Meg could give her answer, they were interrupted by Dean clasping Castiel on the shoulders, Lisa close behind him. “We’re headed to the library. Care to join us?” There was a hint of desperation in Dean’s voice

“Sure thing, Prince Charming. Lead the way.”

Meg stood up and Castiel moved to follow, though Dean’s firm grip didn’t let him for a moment. Only when Castiel shot him a questioning look did Dean remove his hand and step away. The four of them started off to the library. Dean moved to the front to lead the way, and almost immediately Lisa fell into step with him, arms linked as they walked. Meg smiled coyly at Cas, and he smiled back as he offered her his own arm. When Dean looked over his shoulder to ask Meg a question, he nearly tripped over his feet.

Castiel and Lisa had frowned in concern. Meg hid a giggle behind her hand.

Throughout the evening, Lisa cozied up to Dean as much as possible. Castiel would have resented it if he hadn’t thought her feelings were genuine, but he knew well enough that she liked and cared for Dean. Perhaps she was _exaggerating_ it more than necessary, yet he could find no trace of her feigning affection. Which was good, he reminded himself. Even if selfish reasons prevented him from truly liking Lisa, he wanted her and Dean to get along. He could never stand it if Dean’s wife didn’t care for him as much as—

Well, as much as a wife _should_ care for her husband.

The only source of discord between their group was with Dean and Meg. Dean, to be perfectly blunt, was acting like an ass to Meg. He’d say things that bordered on rude and his hostility towards her was none too subtle. For the life of him, Castiel couldn’t understand Dean’s behavior. If he was upset about his own situation, that was no reason to take it out on Meg. They were friends. She’d spent as much time with Dean as Lisa had,

It irked Castiel enough that he interceded on Meg’s behalf once or twice, each time earning a wounded look from Dean. He’d hoped Dean would take the hint and lighten up, but if anything his behavior got worse.

When it grew late and Lisa begged to call it a night, the boys escorted the ladies back to the guest rooms at the southwest side of the castle. On the way, Castiel apologized for Dean’s rudeness. She gave him a bemused look, saying, “My fault for poking the bear. Though if I’d known, I’d have done it sooner. He’s adorable when he’s all worked up.”

Afterward, Dean and Castiel made their way back to the eastern side. They didn’t share a bed anymore like they did as boys, but Castiel usually walked Dean to his room at the end of the day to say good night. It was on the way to his own room, he reasoned, and he enjoyed the last few moments with Dean each day. These few minutes before Dean went to bed and when he first woke up in the morning were him at his least guarded, and Castiel delighted in getting to witness it.

He didn’t mean to stay—despite being back at the castle, Castiel had spent the better part of the week training and a good portion of today outside the stone walls, and sleep beckoned to him—but Dean pulled him into his room. Dean removed his crown and left it on the ornate table off to the side, running his hand through his hair.

“You and Meg seemed to be having fun tonight.”

“Of course we did. We’re friends.” Dean made a face, hopefully realizing his earlier behavior was out of line. Castiel paused before adding, “Just like you and Lisa seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.” They’d scarce been more than a few feet away from each other. Dean might still be apprehensive about marrying her, but there was no denying the soft smiles he’d given her.

Dean shrugged and grunted noncommittally.

“Are you… more relaxed about your situation?”

“About marrying her without even getting a say in the matter? No, not really. Lisa’s great and all, but… I dunno, I just… I _knew_ this would be my life at some point, but maybe I kinda hoped…” He walked over to the wash basin and splashed cool water on his face. After flicking the excess water from his hands, he used a towel to dab at his face. “Guess it was stupid and childish to think I’d get what I want.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean tossed the towel aside and sat on the edge of his bed. There was a moment where he looked like he was considering how to proceed before he rolled his eyes and went with it. “So… you and Meg, huh?”

Castiel waited for Dean to continue the thought, but when he said no more, Castiel asked, “Meg and I…?”

“You… you courting her?” Dean winced and immediately backtracked. “I’m not suggesting you plan on marrying her or anything. I know knights can marry and all but I don’t know how you feel about settling down… I meant are you two going to… Are you guys gonna…” He trailed off and Castiel quickly took the opportunity to speak, just in case Dean started babbling again.

“If you’re asking if Meg and I intend to… be romantically or sexually involved, the answer is no. She offered, but I declined.”

Dean looked stunned. “She propositioned _you_? In _my_ castle? I thought I was being paranoid—”

“Dean,” he interrupted. The prince’s mouth shut with an audible click. “I’m not interested in Meg like that.” Or anyone, really. Save the one obvious exception, but princes don’t settle for knights and straight men don’t fall for other men.

“So… you and Meg aren’t… you won’t be…”

“No. She’s… not my type.”

“Oh. ‘Cuz for a second there, I thought you two would…” Once again Dean cut himself, but this time he didn’t wait long enough for Cas to pick up the lull in conversation. “Well, now I’m embarrassed I even brought it up.”

“Why? We’re friends, there are no topics you need feel embarrassed to bring up with me.”

Dean laughed in agreement, though Castiel noticed that his expression was guarded, his eyes tight. It sounded forced, but Castiel couldn’t pinpoint anything out of place in what had been said, so he let it go. “Yeah, guess you’re right. I’m pretty beat, I’m gonna head to bed. See you in the morning?”

“Of course.”

\- - - -

“I don’t like this,” Dean muttered as the ladies were helped into their carriage. Lisa waved a kerchief matching the favor she’d bestowed upon Dean moments ago. Dean waved back with a grimace on his face. When it was Meg’s turn to hop inside, she winked at Cas and waggled her eyebrows at Dean; Dean laughed and winked back. After that first day, Dean’s behavior towards Meg had much improved. Thank the gods; Castiel couldn’t have dealt with weeks of them bickering.

Once they were both safely inside, Dean sighed in relief and spoke a little louder. “How come I gotta marry one of these noblewomen?”

Meg and Lisa had stayed nearly a month. Winter was upon them, and Sir Braeden wanted to depart before the heavier storms set in on the coast. The last few years had taught him that it was easier to manage his estate while actually there during the winter storm season, and he was eager to get back.

And this was only perhaps the hundredth time Dean had brought up this very question. For once, though, Castiel grew tired of being understanding. Dean was a prince and had certain obligations that came with the crown he wore. Castiel felt for his plight, truly he did, but it wouldn’t do either of them any good to ignore the inevitability of him marrying Lisa. And if not Lisa, some other woman of good breeding fit to help him rule and produce heirs worthy of the name Winchester.

“Because you’re to be a king? Your wife should be of noble birth so as not to lessen the prestige of your family’s line.”

“That’s all bullshit and you know it. How come I can’t marry whoever I want? Even if they’re not…” He gestures vaguely at Lisa’s retreating carriage; Lisa blew Dean a kiss before disappearing inside. ”Like that.”

“What? Perfectly lovely, beautiful, and well bred? Someone you get along with? Someone who’s kind and intelligent?” Lisa’s good traits were easy for him to rattle off. He’d been doing it in his head for the past month, trying to acclimate himself to the idea of Dean and Lisa marrying and trying to find all the positives in the situation. There were, fortunately (unfortunately?), quite a few. “There are far worse women your father could pick as your betrothed.”

“I guess… It still sucks. This is a huge choice, and it’s one I don’t even get to make for myself. Iff marrying Lisa is the _right_ choice—whatever _that_ means—then shouldn’t I be allowed to come to that decision on my own? I mean, what ever happened to free will?”

“I’m all for free will.”

“Yeah, everyone is ‘til it’s inconvenient.”

“Alright, Dean, fine. If you had your choice, who _would_ you marry?”

For reasons Castiel couldn’t understand, Dean blushed and turned away. “Dunno. Haven’t given it much thought. _But_ I’d like the chance to _find out_. I mean, SAm gets to flirt with whoever the hell he wants and no one bats an eye. _I_ gotta follow the script and bow and pay deference to Lisa because my dad _said_ so.”

“Sam isn’t heir to the throne,” Castiel argued. “And I’ve never seen your brother flirt with anyone. As future king, your father has a say in your future wife. You will rule after him, and she will fill the place long ago left by your mother.”

“Greeeeat, because I really want my _father_ picking my future spouse for me. _That’s_ not a mood killer at all.”

Castiel sighed deeply, giving up trying to reason with Dean on this. “Then _don’t_ marry her. You could always delay and wait until you become king yourself. No one tells a king who to marry. You’d be free to marry whoever you choose.”

Dean looked back at the castle, determination visible in every line of his face. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

\- - - -

Dean’s disinterest in Lisa didn’t go unnoticed by King John. The old man merely had decided to wait until their guests were gone before bringing it up to his son. Alone in the council meeting chamber, with just the king and his son and their respective bodyguards, he no longer hid his annoyance.

“I had hoped to announce an impending royal wedding before Sir Braeden left, but instead I had to make excuses to him and say excuses like ‘maybe next year.’ Care to tell me why you’re so indifferent to Lisa? She’s just about a perfect match.”

“Yeah, on paper, maybe,” Dean grumbled. He kept his eyes fixed on the table as he continued, “Lisa’s great, I just don’t want to marry her.”

King John considered his son’s answer. The longer he waited, the more Dean’s frown grew. Finally, he had mercy and spoke: “Fine. Don’t marry Lisa if you’d rather not. Who would you prefer? Cassie of the Heathlands? Lydia from the northern border? There are others, you need only say which one—”

“If it’s all the same, father, none of them.” Dean met his father’s curious gaze with his own defiant one. “As prince, I will do what I can to benefit the lands of Winchester. If there is some… alliance or some trade routes to be gained through my marriage to a princess from another land, then I will gladly do it. But Lisa, Cassie, Lydia… all of these girls are from our own borders. If Winchester gains nothing from these marriages and if I have nothing beyond brotherly affection for these noblewomen, I would just as soon _not_ marry them at all.”

The king’s knuckles rapped against the table once twice three times before he reached out the hand to Dean. “Alright, deal. If you find a noblewoman who _does_ catch your eye, we’ll discuss it. If you don’t, then we don’t. _But_ if a marriage treaty comes from the lands of Fitzgerald or the MacLeod isles, I expect you to be willing to do it.”

Dean reached forward and accepted his father’s hand.

“Deal.”


	4. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp my original notes had john dying in chapter three, and now it looks like he's surviving til chapter six... lucky for him cas and dean are such lovesick idiots :P
> 
> there are a couple ships briefly mentioned but that i'm not adding to the story tags because they literally are a mention and not expanded upon. those ships are inias/samandriel and ruby/bela. there's also some dean/benny getting screen time this chapter, and the implications that it'll happen again
> 
> trying to keep up these bi-weekly updates as i continue to work on challenge/bang projects. come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) to see what i'm working on between updates (especially those emoji ficlets/prompt fills... i think i'm on a month long streak of posting something new every day).
> 
> also short retcon note: i used garth last chapter as one of the knights, but i've since changed that to jo. garth is *not* a knight of dean's, but jo is.

Over the next few years, King John continued to invite nobles from throughout the kingdom to stay at the castle. Noblewomen continued to be paraded in front of Dean one after another, and Dean resigned himself to enduring a constant string of flirting from the young ladies. King John kept true to his word and allowed Dean to manage his own affairs as much as possible, but there were always questions and gentle nudging on his part. 

Castiel worried that one of these girls must surely hold Dean’s attention.  _ Why _ he worried so much about it, he couldn’t say; he knew  _ he _ would never be able to fill that role for Dean, but it bothered him nonetheless. Yet no matter how lovely the girl was, Dean’s courteous and friendly demeanor never warmed into something more. When his father would cast him questioning looks, Dean would shake his head. Each time, Castiel’s heart sung in relief, and he hated that Dean could have such a hold over him.

How much simplier his life would be if only Castiel had accepted Meg’s offer. If only he could see the beauty in anyone other than Dean, Prince of Winchester.

The only time Castiel ever felt worried about Dean’s attachment to visiting nobles was when Lady Lafitte’s son came to court. Benjamin—though he preferred to be called Benny—was a few years older than Dean and himself, but he and Dean took to each other immediately. When Dean smiled at Benny, Castiel saw none of the forced politeness or subtle distance he used with the young ladies who arrived as prospective wives. There was something more genuine, something… well, Castiel couldn’t quite put his finger on it, yet he knew it was different. 

His suspicions were confirmed one day when he and Sam walked in on Dean and Benny kissing in the baths. Castiel had been rooted to the spot, unable to look away as Dean nipped at Benny’s neck and Benny’s hands roamed lower and lower—

“Dean!” Sam squeaked, ending the moment. “What are you doing?”

Dean huffed in annoyance and turned to face his brother, only then noticing Castiel was with him. As soon as his eyes met Cas’, he pushed away from Benny and scrambled to straighten his clothes, pink spreading like wildfire across his cheeks.

“Shit,” he hissed. “How long have you two been… You guys didn’t see…?”

“Your tongue down Benny’s throat?” Sam interrupted. “Yeah, we definitely saw that. People bathe in here, Dean. That’s gross.”

“I’ll see you later, brother,” Benny said as he pat Dean on the back and then nodded to Sam and Castiel as he slipped out of the baths and back to the guest chambers.

“Please don’t tell Father,” Dean begged. He avoided looking at Castiel and his cheeks were still bright red. “Me and Benny were just… having fun. I don’t want Father to think I want to marry him.”

“Then why would you kiss him?” Sam asked incredulously.

“... Sam, I really don’t want to explain this to you, but trust me, you can want to kiss someone without wanting to marry them.”

Sam’s chest puffed out and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He hated when Dean implied that he was too young to understand something, and this was apparently no exception. “I’m telling Father.” Then he stuck out his tongue and took off for the hallway. 

Castiel expected Dean to follow after—Sam might be fast, but Dean had the advantage of longer legs and would be able to outrun him easily—but he stayed behind. Edging closer to Cas, he kept his eyes on the floor and said, “Sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Sam and I should have knocked.” 

It occurred to Castiel that he hadn’t thought Dean was interested in men, and now he had proof to the contrary. So if Dean had no interest in Castiel, it wasn’t because of his gender. It simply meant that Dean thought of him as a friend first and foremost, perhaps as a brother like he thought of Sam, but nothing behind that.

He didn’t hear anything else Dean said, excusing himself as quickly as possible to mope in the courtyard and find a sparring partner. The physical activity did wonders to help quiet his raging thoughts. 

_ This isn’t new information, _ he chided himself.  _ Dean was never going to be yours. The possibility that a man might have him should be no more hurtful than the thought of a woman having him. _

_ What does it matter? It’s just  ** another ** way you don’t stand a chance with Dean. What’s one more? _

Gordon rolled his shoulders after their match, fingers pressing into the sore muscles as he asked what had gotten Cas so worked up. Castiel, of course, shrugged it off and disappeared into the castle. 

Neither Dean nor Castiel brought up the incident in the baths for the rest of Benny’s stay, though Castiel made a point of knocking before entering any room in search of Dean and not so subtly allowed the two young men to have time alone together. Dean seemed both frustrated and pleased by Cas’ behavior, but said nothing. As the days stretched on, he doubted the subject would ever be brought up again. The day after Benny left, he was proven wrong. 

However, it was the king who broached the subject, not Dean. 

“Sammy tells me you and Benjamin were getting friendly with each other.”

Dean colored and avoided eye contact with his father. Luckily King John had waited until it was just himself, Bobby, Dean, and Castiel present. The king had a habit of ignoring Bobby and Castiel altogether when they were actively on duty, so it was likely he felt that he and Dean were actually  _ alone _ . 

“Yes, Father. I… We—“

“You don’t have to tell me the details or explain yourself,” John said with a hand up to cut off his son. “I’m not angry or upset with you for exploring that with Benjamin.”

Dean’s head snapped up. “What, you’re not going to ask if I wanna marry him?”

King John sat back in his chair, fingers steepled as he paused in consideration. “Do you?”

“No!” 

“Good. Consider the matter settled.”

“Wait, what?” Dean’s face twisted in confusion as he looked first to Cas and then to Bobby to see if he’d missed something. Both bodyguards remained impassive (no matter how difficult it was for Castiel to do so). 

“You don’t want to marry Benny. Good.”

“Good? I figured since this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to one of these nobles that have come to the castle, you’d be all over my case about this.”

“How many kings have you read about that have taken another man as husband? Or Queens for that matter. How many queens in your history books have wed another woman?” He waited for Dean’s answer, though they all knew it.

“Well… None that I can think of, but surely—”

“And do you know why, Dean?” Dean shook his head. “There’s nothing shameful in men wanting to bed other men. Or in them marrying other men. There are many such couples in our kingdom and in many others. But nobles—kings and queens especially—cannot afford such matches. The prosperity of our kingdom rests on a line of succession. For kings, marriage can do many things. It could secure our borders, allow for trade agreements, bring peace and stop civil unrest, provide us with many… But of all the things it can do, the  _ most important _ is that it produces legitimate heirs.”

Dean winced as though he’d been struck. “So, what? I  _ have _ to marry a woman—”

“Yes,” John interrupted. “You can take as many male lovers as you like. As many female lovers, too, for that matter. But you  _ must _ marry a woman and produce children.”

“I… I thought you’d be supportive of me if I found a love match.”

“And I will be. If you were to fall in love with someone, I would do everything I could to help you with it. But if you were to fall in love with a man, know that you could never marry him. I will set him up in the castle or nearby, give him estates and lands and titles. But there is one title that I can never bestow on such a man, no matter how worthy. No man but yourself may bear the name of King.”

Despite Dean’s early promises that he didn’t want to marry Benny, he looked absolutely dejected by this news. But Castiel was right about one thing. As he escorted Dean back to his room for the evening, even though he could see the pain and frustration practically radiating off of Dean, neither spoke of it. Not of Benny or what the king had said or why Dean should feel so upset by the whole thing. 

Like a coward, Castiel decided never to bring it up. He knew his friend needed comfort, yet he couldn’t find the words to help him because Dean’s answer—whatever it might be—would hurt him beyond words. For the first time since he could remember, he chose to protect himself over Dean. 

It didn’t sit well with him.

So one afternoon, when the opportunity presented itself, he  _ forced _ himself to ask.

He found Dean pouring over a thick book in the library. Others were stacked about on the tables, clearly having been read recently and then cast aside when deemed useless. A quick look at their covers showed they were all manner of history texts and genealogies of royal families. 

“Has Frank assigned you some project I’m unaware of,” he asked.

Dean looked up and smiled, as though just noticing Cas was there, then turned back to the pages in front of him. “No. This is, uh… This is for me.”

Curiosity piqued, Castiel took a seat across from Dean. “Anything I can help with?”

“Nope,” Dean answered too quickly, then rolled his eyes and set the book on the table. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but… Look, it’s embarrassing.”

“Reading beyond what you’re assigned is embarrassing?” Castiel teased. 

“Something like that,” Dean muttered as his fingers traced the worn ink to find his spot. He shouldn’t, but Castiel took the time to admire how breathtakingly gorgeous Dean was. So effortlessly handsome most of the time, now he was rendered absolutely adorable with his eyes following the words on the page and his tongue sticking out between his lips. 

In moments like this, Castiel knew his attraction to Dean was more than sexual. That his feelings were more than brotherly. That his heart was irrevocably claimed.

When Dean broke the silence, Castiel jumped and tried not to look too guilty.

“I’m trying to look for a precedence. Father said kings don’t marry men and queens don’t marry women, and I thought if I could prove that they  _ did _ and that it  _ worked out _ , he’d be open to it. But so far he’s right… Lots of male and female lovers, but no same-sex marriages. Well, there was this one guy… King…” Dean flipped back a few pages. “King Inias, who was wed to his squire Samandriel. But it was only because they were married  _ before _ he ascended to the throne. He was apparently, like, fifth in the line of succession but this plague wiped out all his older siblings. And then once he actually became king, he was forced to divorce his husband and marry his older brother’s widowed wife. Fucked up shit, man.”

Dean went back to his current page and kept reading. Castiel’s anger flared and he couldn’t help the words from tumbling out.

“Why are you pushing your father on this? Do you  _ want _ to marry a man?” It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Dean might have claimed otherwise, but it seemed obvious he held out hope of marrying Benny someday.

Startled, Dean looked up. “I-I don’t? I mean, I don’t know if I do. I just… I don’t want to be told I  _ can’t _ marry someone, for  _ any _ reason.”

“So for once in your princely life, you’re being told ‘no’ and you don’t like it.”

Dean glared at him but didn’t respond to the intended jab. Instead, he hit a little closer to the heart of the matter. “Do you dislike that I'm interested in men?” 

Castiel couldn’t quite pin down Dean’s tone. It should’ve been an accusation or maybe defensive, but it seemed more… strained? 

Why wouldn’t it be? Dean thought his best friend wasn’t supportive of his sexuality. Good work, Castiel.

“That’s not it. I could never dislike anything that makes you happy, Dean.”  _ Even if it broke my heart, I would of course support you. _ “I’m just… surprised that you’re so persistent about this.”

“Yeah, well, I am. Here,” Dean passed over an unopened book. “I could use some help.”

It was difficult for Cas to put his all into the effort. The readings, though interesting, were rendered dull as he scanned through passage after passage. The task was tedious, and one that ultimately would not end in his favor if Dean indeed married Benny, but one he forced himself to continue.

“Found something!” Dean called excitedly. “Queen Bela married her court assassin Ruby… Shit!” Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean's abrupt shift in mood. “They were married for forty years, reigned together, and were buried in the same tomb—”

“How is this bad? It seems to be evidence in your favor…”

“—And then Queen Bela’s son from a previous marriage ascended to the throne.” Dean slammed the book shut. “Great, so I can marry a guy provided I first marry a chick and have some kids first, then either divorce her or wait until she dies. Perfect.” Dean slumped back against his chair. “Crap, was my dad really right about this?”

“It would appear so.” He saw Dean’s frustration and his heart ached to see Dean’s distress. “There still might be other examples,” Castiel offered. “We could keep looking—”

“Ugh, don’t bother. I’m stuck and we both know it.”

“You could always be the first,” Castiel insisted. “The first king to marry another man.”

“My dad’s never going to let that happen. Not that my father doesn’t care about me and my happiness, but he knows it’s our responsibility as kings to produces heirs and make sure there’s a smooth transition between successors. I can’t be the only future king who’s ever had to deal with this.” He buried his face in his hands and sighed. “I’m just the one having the hardest time accepting it.”

Castiel had no words of comfort to offer his friend. If this was beyond Dean’s power to change, it certainly was beyond Castiel’s. They remained there in the library for a few moments, Dean brooding and Cas unable to find any way to break the silence. In the end, by some mutual agreement, they never brought it up again. Soon, enough time had passed that it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

\- - - -

Castiel never stopped being anxious when young nobles came to visit, but there were a few times when Dean visibly shared in Castiel’s nervousness.

Whenever an envoy came from foreign lands, Dean would hide in his bed chambers or the stables as much as possible. If they came with a young woman of noble birth, the effect was only amplified. He tensed whenever his father called upon him to meet with these guests, and only relaxed once it was clear that no marriage alliance was sought. Then Dean would be his usual, cheerful self once more.

And Castiel would indulge in his own relief that Dean was still free from the confines of the deal he’d made with his father. 

Then of course came messengers from the Fitzgerald Kingdom. The king called his council together, and of course Dean was in attendance. As soon as the words ‘marriage treaty’ were out of the king’s mouth, Dean grew pale and rigid. Even Castiel could hardly keep himself from tensing at his post behind Dean, and was glad that Dean couldn’t see his reaction to the news.

Their alarm was short-lived, however. They indeed wanted a marriage alliance, but It turned out the Fitzgeralds sought a noble lady from their realm to marry their young prince. Dean instantly suggested Bess. She was from a good family with enough prestige to be tempting to the Fitzgeralds, plus she grew up close to court so it would help strengthen any alliance between their two lands. 

Dean was in charge of cementing the marriage alliance. He helped Prince Garth when he came to visit his prospective bride, and was in attendance at the wedding itself. King John made sure to hint at how  _ pleased _ the Fitzgeralds must be to have their legacy one step closer to being secured, as well as to point out to Dean how  _ easy _ a marriage could be. Dean bore the comments as graciously as he could, but Castiel could see the toll they took on him. 

If the king thought it would persuade his son to finally choose a wife, he was gravely mistaken. Dean was even more adamant that he wouldn’t marry unless he was in love. He had a confidence about him as he dealt with all the visiting nobles his father invited, an assurance that he was in control of his own destiny. And instead of being nervous or antsy around foreign dignitaries like he had been, Dean managed them with the respect they were due but made it clear he was uninterested in marrying anyone, regardless of what his father suggested.

It was incredibly hot. This was what Dean would be like as king, confident and in charge and Castiel loved it. 

And hated it. Just because Dean had turned down every possible suitor didn’t mean that he’d do so indefinitely. Though they hadn’t talked about it since that day in the library, Dean had made it clear he was committed to having an heir. Sooner or later, he’d find someone. 

And Castiel would be forced to watch.

\- - - -

Castiel spent the first twenty years of his life either in or within a few miles of the castle. As had Dean, for that matter, as the king noticed as Dean’s twentieth birthday approached. Sam was the one who mentioned it, laughing at Dean’s assertion that he knew everything about the kingdom. He’d been so puffed up with pride that it was inevitable for Sam to knock him down a peg or two.

“Sure you know the kingdom. All of it that can fit in in the ten miles north, south, east, and west of here,” Sam quipped. Dean had blushed, stuttering an incoherent come back, and even Castiel had chuckled.

The king hadn’t found it nearly so humorous and immediately decided to remedy that oversight. “A king should know his kingdom. Enough having people come to us and pay their respects, we’re visiting all our territories and returning the favor.”

The young princes were excited at the prospect of a tour around their lands, Dean’s earlier embarrassment forgotten. As soon as dinner ended, they dashed off to take a look at the maps of their lands and plot out where they wanted to go, whom they most wanted to visit. As Castiel moved to follow, the king ushered him back in.

“Castiel… I appear to have made a mistake in not only my sons’ education, but yours as well. Bobby tells me you do well in your training, that you’re an excellent fighter and have a mind for strategy… but your only  _ real _ combat experience is when you stopped that assassin. I’m hesitant to leave my son’s safety in the hands of a man who’s never killed someone. It’s not that I question your loyalty or think you would in any way knowingly endanger Dean… but this lapse in your experience gives me pause. I wonder how you would react in the heat of the moment, having never truly been tested when the stakes are high.”

“I don’t understand… Are you asking me to kill someone?”

Bobby snorted from his place by King John’s side, and the king looked momentarily thrown by the blunt question. “Your job is to kill, is it not? If it’s necessary?”

“Yes, but short of orchestrating a situation where killing  _ is _ necessary, I’m not sure how to—”

“The legions in the north,” the king said simply. “There are constant skirmishes with the tribes who live in the forests… There are a number of skilled commanders and soldiers there, knights who could teach you more than you could hope to learn, even under Bobby’s tutelage…”

“And I’ll have to kill people.”

The king shrugged. “Most likely.”

“It ain’t uncommon,” Bobby interrupted. Normally the old knight never spoke over the king, but when there was no one there to frown at the breach in decorum, he did it often. “Plenty of knights go to serve on the frontlines and then come back. Or don’t, if they find they like the excitement better than the safety of the castle. I spent a few years there, myself, when I was a boy. Younger than you, actually. Good experience, especially if you’re gonna be High Knight someday.”

“A few years?” Castiel repeated. 

Bobby shrugged. “Minimum service is usually ten months, but most people stay longer. Can’t really get a feel for something if you do it any less than that.”

Everything they said was completely reasonable. He’d never get the skills and experience he needed if he stayed here. And better to go now, while Dean wasn’t yet king. He wouldn’t have the chance later when Dean sat on the throne, and now that the seeds of doubt had been planted, Castiel would never be satisfied with his abilities unless he’s actually fought  _ real _ enemies in battle.

Plus if the king demanded it, Castiel was hardly in a position to argue. 

“Okay,” he agreed, as though they were asking his opinion and as though he had the option of saying no. “I’ll go.”

“Excellent.”

While Sam and Dean were excitedly dreaming about the next few months, Castiel met with Bobby to discuss the details. What would be expected of him, how long a reasonable stay would be, other knights that they may went to send with him. In the end, they agreed upon an eighteen month stay, and that Jo and Gordon would both accompany him. It wasn’t set in stone that the other two knights would remain for the same duration, but they would at the very least arrive with Castiel, and then they could decide for themselves how long they’d stay there. It was exhausting to think about the year and a half he’d lose here at court, but Bobby’s enthusiasm was catching. 

It didn’t make it any easier to tell Dean.

He avoided it for a while. Let Dean have his excitement for the trip. Didn’t offer an explanation when Dean wondered why they’d be circling around to the northern border to visit the troops stationed there. Tried not to look too longingly at his friend as he took every second he could to memorize the lines of Dean’s face, the sound of his laugh, the stride of his bowed legs.

And then there were the fantasies. Every night he indulged in a new scenario of telling Dean he was leaving, of Dean begging him to stay in all manner of ways. Or maybe Dean visiting him while he was up north. Slipping into his bed at night to keep him warm, whisper endearments as his hands wandered all over Castiel’s body. And then were the times he imagined his glorious return home, when Dean would show him just how much he’d missed his knight…

Dean noticed Castiel’s distance and questioned his friend on it, but he easily deflected. He’d done such a good job avoiding the topic of their rapidly approaching separation that it didn’t come up until the journey was already underway. 

“I can’t wait to see the Lafitte castle,” Dean said excitedly from where he rode on horseback a few strides ahead of Castiel. “Benny said there’s a network of caves underneath where they store wine but also use as a dungeon. I doubt they have any prisoners right now, but it’ll be cool to check out anyway.”

“I’m sure you’ll have fun.” The Lafitte castle was the first stop  _ after _ they dropped off Castiel, Jo, and Gordon. 

“What? You too scared to visit an abandoned dungeon?”

“He’s not coming,” Sam called from the back of a supply wagon. Sam wasn’t as keen of a rider as Dean or Castiel, so he spent much of the time on the road reading in the wagons. “He’s staying at the fort up north.”

“... What?”

Castiel perhaps should’ve been annoyed at Sam for telling Dean, but he honestly couldn’t find it in him to be upset with the young prince. “Your father felt it’d be a good idea for me to have real combat experience if I’m to become head of the King’s Guard. Bobby served there for a few years—”

“A few years?” Dean all but shouted. Some of the nearby soldiers and servants turned to give them a questioning look, but Dean either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the attention he was drawing. “You’re leaving me for  _ a few years _ and you didn’t tell me?”

Sam went wide-eyed before hiding behind his book, leaving Castiel alone to face the brunt of Dean’s incredulous anger. Not that Castiel blamed him; if he could hide behind a book instead of face this conversation, he would.

“I’ll only be gone eighteen months—”

“That’s still more than a year!”

“—and both your father and Bobby think it’s a necessary part of my training. How can I be expected to protect you if the only life or death situation I’ve faced is that time assassins made it to court? That was  _ six years ago _ , Dean.”

“You’re going for eighteen months  _ and _ you’ll be facing life or death situations!?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that. He’d thought Dean would be upset, but that he’d quickly see the benefits of the arrangement. Now Castiel got the impression that if it were up to Dean, he’d immediately overturn his father’s decision. Which was frustrating; Castiel had taken a lot of time to warm up to and accept the plans for his future, and now Dean’s unhappiness with the arrangement was reminding Castiel of all the reasons he  _ didn’t _ want to go.

“I’m a  _ knight _ , Dean. I’m your  _ personal bodyguard _ . That’s literally part of my job description.”

“Okay,  _ fine _ , but it’s not your job to fight fucking barbarians! I can’t believe you’re going along with this and that  _ nobody told me _ !”

“Stop yelling at Cas!” Sam cried, looking surprised at himself for his own outburst but recovering quickly. “Maybe Cas didn’t tell you because he knew you’d act like a jerk—and he would never say it, but you  _ are _ acting like a jerk right now. And you can’t be upset that no one told you. It’s literally been brought up in half a dozen council meetings. Did you even  _ read _ the itinerary for the trip? Just because  _ you _ weren’t paying attention and  _ you _ take it for granted that Cas will always be around as your shadow, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on  _ him _ .”

That shut Dean up quickly, and he stayed quiet for a while as he thought about what Sam had said. Castiel let him stew in it, hoping Dean wouldn’t make this harder than it had to be. Their separation was inevitable at this point, and it’d be easier for Cas if he knew Dean would be okay without him. 

Sure, it’d hurt to think that Dean didn’t need him as much as he needed Dean, but it would be for the best.

When Dean did speak up again, his voice was much calmer than before. “And you’re okay with this? They’re not forcing you, are they?”

“I wasn’t thrilled with the idea at first, but they have some valid points. And, admittedly, I am…  _ curious _ about how things are run at the fort. What it would be like in a  _ real _ battle.”

“ _ Curious _ ? Is that Cas-speak for  _ really fucking excited _ ?” There was a teasing note to his voice, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile.

“I am… maybe a  _ little _ excited at the prospect.”

“Well, then, I hope you have a lot of fun.” Dean winked at him, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips, genuine despite how troubled Dean’s eyes were. “And stay safe. I’m  _ ordering _ you to look out for yourself, okay? You come back to me in one piece, alright? And you write me  _ at least _ once a week, and none of that ‘things are going well’ bullshit.  _ Real _ letters about what you’ve been doing and how you’re feeling.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Things between the two young men settled back into their usual chatter. There was some underlying tension, especially as their trip took them further and further north, but Dean was supportive whenever Cas’ training was brought up. The last few days before they dropped him off, Dean followed him around like his shadow. Dean was never far from Cas, and Castiel loved it. He soaked in as much of the prince’s attention as he could, hoping the memories would keep him warm when he was alone at night.

Their final farewell outside the gates of the northern fort was difficult. Sam had tears in his eyes as he hugged Castiel. “Stay safe, okay Cas? Dean’s not the only one who’s going to miss you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll do my best, Sam. I’ll miss you too, of course.”

Then it was Dean crowding into his space, hugging him tight and not letting go. “Seriously, man,” Dean whispered in his ear, his breath tickling and causing goosebumps to rise along Castiel’s arms. “You take care of yourself. No unnecessary risks, okay? And you better fucking write me. I’m not joking about this, Cas, I expect to hear from you all the time. All the fucking time, you hear me? I don’t care how boring you think your day was, you tell me about it. I’m doing the same, too. You can’t get rid of me just because you’re hundreds of miles from home.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

The hug went on another minute, and Cas was becoming aware of how inappropriately long it was lasting. Someone would surely question why he couldn’t let Dean go. His arms didn’t want to cooperate, but he forced himself to end the hug and step away.

They didn’t say anything else. Dean backed away, waving awkwardly until he’d reached his horse. He mounted without breaking eye contact, chewing his lips like it was the only thing stopping him from saying something, but then abruptly he turned away. Kicking his mare into a trot, Dean left.


	5. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this chapter's a little delayed coming out, but here it is! this chapter is told completely though the letters dean and cas (and a few other people) send each other while cas is away. it's still cas' pov, though, which you'll see in a few of the notes. 
> 
> while these letters tell the general story of what happens during this fifteen ish month period (yes i know cas' stay is supposed to be eighteen months, but this chapter ends before that time period's over), i don't want you guys to think these are the *only* letters cas and dean are sending each other. think of these as the highlights, but there are a ton of other ones.
> 
> if you're interested in seeing what i'm up to when i'm not posting on ao3, come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com). i post a ficlet every day pretty much, babble about writing, and sometimes ask for input on fics (i know i asked for help coming up with ideas for this chapter). don't worry, i'm friendly :)

Dean,

I know you said to write often, so I apologize in advance for taking so long to write this first letter. It’s taken some time to settle in. Everything about the camp is so familiar and yet so different from what I’m used to or expected. The atmosphere, the camaraderie between soldiers is just like when Bobby takes us on training exercises, but the knights here are rougher. It’s not that their manners are wanting, it’s more that they’re used to the harsh conditions of the forest and the lands past the walls.

Gordon doesn’t much cares for the weather, which is ridiculous given that it’s not yet winter and no colder than it would be at the castle. I think he just wants to complain. It’s made him rather unpopular with the men and women who grew up here. Hopefully once they see he’s a good knight, they’ll warm up to him.

Jo, on the other hand, is quite taken with this place. I often find her flirting with the locals when they come to trade or watch our training exercises. She likes to show off with her sword. We’ve had some fun with that; I let her win a few times so that she could catch the eye of a shy young redheaded girl. Her name’s Anna, if I’m not mistaken, and I think Jo’s quite smitten with her. I wonder if Jo will want to go back home or if she’ll wish to stay here… It’s only been a week. I probably shouldn’t bother speculating on it so soon.

As for myself, I’m slowly adjusting. I have my own tent, and though it’s small, I appreciate the privacy it offers me. I’ve been warned to start collecting blankets and animal skins to pad the walls, or else every breeze come winter will chill me to the bone. I’ve made some friends with the other knights here. Hael and Hannah in particular have been very welcoming.

Though they’re of course no replacement for your company.

— Castiel

 

* * *

 

Cas,

Glad you’re settling in okay. I’m not gonna lie, I miss the hell out of you and it’s only been a few weeks. Not sure how I’m supposed to handle eighteen months without you, but hey, at least when you come back, I get you for good, right?

I should probably catch you up on our travels since you left. Nothing major happened on the road. Bobby did kill a wild boar, but I missed out on that hunt so I don’t have any cool stories or anything. Tasted good though. We’re at the Lafitte castle and will probably be gone by the time you get this letter. The caves under the castle are pretty cool, might have to come back here with you some time to show you.

[There was a blotted out section here that, despite Castiel’s best efforts, was completely illegible. At best, he could decipher the words ‘comfort’ and ‘Benny.’]

And please, Cas, just stay safe. I know you’re supposed to be learning about real combat and everything, so do that, but don’t take any unnecessary risks. Don’t be a hero. There are plenty of other knights out there who can do that. You just do your job, okay? I don’t want to get any letters hearing about you getting hurt.

I miss you, too, buddy.

— Dean

 

* * *

 

Dean,

I met some members of the northern tribes today. Don’t worry, it wasn’t a skirmish and no one was hurt.

They came to trade, and it was perfectly amicable. They visit the villages nearby, and if they can’t find anyone there, they stop by the camp. I traded a whistle I’d whittled out of wood  for a necklace. It’s a simple necklace—a jade stone on a leather tie—but it was a rather simple whistle, so I feel we both made out well.

(Yes, Dean, I’m learning to whittle. There are lots of training drills and physical labor involved, but on my down time I’ve nothing else to do. There are no libraries to occupy my time here, so I’ve had to pick up some new hobbies. Well, just the one so far, but it’s coming along.)

The people don’t look much different than us. Back home, the stories are always about how tall and generally big they are. It’s certainly not the case; they are no taller than the average man or woman. Their clothing is perhaps less refined, made of leather or wool instead of the cotton or silk you’ll see at court. Their jewelry is mostly beads and pendants, no fine metals or jewels, and their hair is unstyled.

They bring their weapons with them, and even as I traded with that girl, I was reminded that I will be expected to fight them eventually. I suspect it’s easy to fight an unknown enemy, strangers never before met or with whom I’ve only exchanged harsh words. These people seem friendly now, but when winter comes and food grows scarce, it’s likely they’ll attack. Or if there’s a conflict between their tribes, it’ll spill out onto Winchester land as the fugitives seek a place to go.

Someday, I might have to face that girl in battle. The girl whose jade necklace hangs around my neck. The girl who plays music on the whistle I made. I think I like it back home, where I’ll only ever be expected to kill those who try to do you harm. There’s no gray area there, unlike here.

And of course now I’ve started a letter I thought would entertain you and ended it so somberly I almost regret writing it. If it were anyone but you receiving it, I’d probably start over.

How was the rest of your tour? I hope you’ve arrived home safely. And that Sam will stop teasing you about not knowing your own kingdom.

— Castiel

 

* * *

 

Cas,

I know it’s gotta suck, but if it comes down to you or that girl or anyone else up there, you make sure it’s _you_ that comes out of it. I’m counting on getting my best friend back in one piece.

~~There’s something~~

~~When I hugged you~~

~~The whole time I~~

~~You’re the most~~

~~If something were to happen~~

I just miss you. And there’s so much I want to tell you, but a letter’s not the right place for it. Guess I’ll just have to wait ‘til you get back.

You asked about the rest of the trip, and it was good. I very much liked getting to _see_ all the places I keep hearing about in council meetings, and to _meet_ the people who will one day call me king. I feel like knowing them helps me know myself better, if that makes any sense. The type of king I want to be. _Need_ to be.

~~Ugh. How do you get me tongue-tied when you’re not even here?~~

Sorry this letter’s so short. We actually rode all day to get back to the castle before nightfall, and I insisted on writing this letter and sending it out before I went to bed. I’ve got a bunch of stories to tell you, but it’ll have to wait for my next letter.

Stay safe. Winter’s coming, so stay warm, too.

— Dean

P.S. Send me something you’ve whittled. I can’t properly make fun of you unless I see how bad you are.

 

* * *

 

Dean,

Before I say more, first let me assure you that I’m alright. I saw my first real battle today, but can happily say I was uninjured.

Aside from the adrenaline rush, the whole thing was surprisingly uneventful. We were patrolling along the river surprised a small group of northerners trying to cross. They fired a few errant shots our way to cover their retreat. None of their arrows actually hit anyone, most falling short and getting washed away by the current. A few of the other knights gave chase, but the raiders had disappeared into the forest before they’d crossed the river.

Is it terrible of me to be disappointed that I didn’t even get to clash swords with anyone?

I know I shouldn’t _want_ to fight, to possibly _kill_ people, but there’s nothing else to do here. I’ve visited the village a number of times. I’ve read what few books and scrolls are available here. I’ve even tried learning some local dances, but I’ve given up. As Jo says, I clearly have two left feet.

So know that I very much miss hearing your voice each day and eagerly await each new letter from you.

— Castiel

P.S. I hope the wooden wolf is to your liking. There are more legends of direwolves here than you’d expect, and I took a hand at trying to create one. They must be massive things, since the dogs the locals keep as pets are at least twice the size of any dog I’ve ever seen.

 

* * *

 

Cas,

You damn better not have been hurt and you damn well better not _try_ to get into fights.

That being said, I’m glad you’re alright. And I think I get it. Bards always sing about how glorious battles are and history books talk the magnificent deeds of great knights and warriors. You’ve been a knight for how many years now and never gotten the chance at that glory? It’s perfectly understandable that you’d want that, or be curious if things live up to those expectations the stories have created.

But keep in mind, bards and books kind of gloss over the bad parts, like losing limbs or getting stabbed or, you know, _dying_.

So please, for the love of the old gods, _please_ don’t be reckless. You’ll get your chance to fight; don’t go _looking_ for it.

— Dean

P.S. I take it back, you’re actually not bad at this whittling thing. Though you tell me direwolves are huge and you send me this wolf without anything for scale. I’m going to need you to whittle me some other animal for reference.

 

* * *

 

Dean,

I’m fully aware of the dangers of battle. Aside from the numerous lectures I’ve received from Bobby over the years, the evidence is obvious around camp. Knights with scars and missing eyes, one officer who lost a finger, and a graveyard full of those who’ve succumbed to their wounds.

It’s just… I’m curious. I’m supposed to be here to see battle, to make sure I’m a good enough knight to face the pressures of a life or death situation. I _want_ to know I’m good enough. I _need_ to know I can do the job I was trained for. I don’t care about the glory of my name or have some sort of bloodlust. I care about keeping my best friend safe. If there ever comes a day where I’m the only one keeping you from getting hurt or worse, I want to do everything in my power _now_ to make sure I’m ready for it.

On a lighter note, perhaps you could tell me how things are back home? I’m sure the castle’s just fine without me, but I wouldn’t mind hearing how everyone is faring.

— Castiel

P.S. As requested, I’ve finally sent along another wooden figure for you. I tried sending you a squirrel, but alas, my skill at carving things that small wasn’t up to the task. Instead I made a moose, having just seen one up close for myself for the first time a few weeks ago.

 

* * *

 

Cas,

Not much is different, save that I’m bored half the time. Sam’s fun and all, but he’s no replacement for you. My father’s kept a string of noble’s coming, probably still trying to tempt me into marrying one of them, and that’s entertaining I guess. They’re mostly my age, so that helps, but even as we’re talking and getting along, I can’t help but wish you were here too.

Actually, that kind of reminds me. I’ve still been looking into the whole marrying a guy thing. Unfortunately all I could find was a bunch of examples about broken lines of succession and how they almost destroyed kingdoms. Guess my father wasn’t joking around about how important a legitimate heir is. That kind of knocked the wind out of my sails for a bit.

I know it’s your job, but keep in mind that it’s _me_ you’re out there for. And I’d rather have you back in one piece, even if that means risking getting hurt myself. You saved me from that assassin when we were kids, and that was without _any_ combat experience. I believe in you.

— Dean

P.S. Okay now you’ve started a trend of sending me wooden animal figurines. I’m going to need one per letter you send me, okay? Maybe by the time you come back, you’ll be able to make that squirrel.

 

* * *

 

Dean,

After we’d finished our rounds today, some of the knights were going to the village brothel to unwind. I was worried they’d force me to join them. Luckily Gordon was there and interceded on my behalf. I doubt he knows the whole truth of it, but from his own experience, he’s seen I have no interest in the men and women at such places.

How could any of them know that the only touch I long for is yours? That the only

And oh how I want it. You have no idea how I imagine myself coming back to my tent and finding you there beneath lamb’s wool blanket, naked and hard and begging for me. You coax me out of my clothes and press your body against mine to keep us both warm. And then you whisper endearments and words of love while your lips leave a heated trail along my skin. All words I’ve heard from you before, but in these fantasies it means something else when you say you miss me and care for me.

Every time I take myself in hand, I imagine it’s your hand stroking me instead of my own.

Forever yours, Castiel

[Castiel burned this letter the morning after writing it.]

 

* * *

 

Dean,

I dread every letter I receive from you, worrying it’ll be _the_ letter. The one that finally says you’ve found someone to wed, someone you’ll love and honor for the rest of your life in ways you could never love and honor me. That the foolish hope I can’t quite seem to quash will die painfully when I see you gaze tenderly into your bride’s eyes.

The only thing I dread worse than receiving that letter is receiving no letter at all. Some days I’ll worry it’s not a pretty lady who will steal you away, but distance and time. While I lose months up here, our friendship weakens and soon, eventually, you might realize you don’t need such a lowborn friend. You’ll decide it’s better to keep me as your bodyguard and nothing more. You were always too good for me. A prince and a knight’s son? We should have never met, let alone become friends. And certainly nothing beyond that, no matter how much I might wish for it.

It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll wed eventually. You’ll grow tired of me eventually. I’d still give my life for yours. You need never worry about that. No matter what happens—

[Castiel scribbled out the letter out in frustration before he could finish it. It, too, found its way to the fire.]

 

* * *

 

Dean,

I apologize for not writing lately. Not much has happened, but since you insisted I tell you everything, no matter how mundane, I’ll try to write _something_.

Gordon broke his sword a week ago. While he waits for it to be repaired, he’s stuck with whatever weapons the armory can spare him. He’s not a fan of any of them so far. He’s systematically gone through a mace, a longbow, a crossbow, throwing knives, and two different lances, loudly declaing them all rubbish. Have I mentioned it’s only been a week? Perhaps he’ll be more careful with his next sword.

Jo is very much in love with Anna, the local girl. I often see her sneaking off to meet with her. I haven’t asked, but she’s said some things that make me think she’s considering a permanent transfer here. I hope she’ll be happy with whatever she chooses.

I also got a new set of stationary, which I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. I’ve effectively learned how to parry an incoming arrow. I’ve outgrown all the clothes I brought here and have had to get more made. The material’s coarser than I’m used to, but it’s thick and warm. I should have probably gotten some made earlier.

— Castiel

P.S. Here is a sheep for your collection. As you can see, I’m slowly progressing to smaller animals.

 

* * *

 

Cas,

Grown out of your clothes, huh? So you’re taller? Or is it all muscle? I’m liking both possibilities. And now I’m really embarrassed I wrote either of those things.

Sam’s taller, too. Shot up like a damn weed. Between him being almost as tall as me and growing out his hair a bit, he’s become quite the heartthrob. I think all the ladies who come visit have learned I’m not interested and instead spend all their time flirting with Sam. The kid’s embarrassed as hell about it, too. Voice gets all squeaky. I’m a terrible older brother because I love it—he made fun of me with all those noble ladies falling all over themselves to get to me, and now it’s payback time.

None of them have caught his eye, though. Or at least not yet. The whole summer’s filled with visits and I’m sure one of them will eventually.

And then the _real_ teasing begins.

— Dean

P.S. My direwolf is lonely with the moose and the sheep. Send another carnivore for him to play with.

 

* * *

 

Dean,

I feel that it’s my duty as a friend of Sam’s to say that you’re enjoying your brother’s agony far too much. It’ll be strange to come back and see your brother so changed. I’m used to him being a full head or more shorter, and if he makes up that difference I’ll have to stop thinking of him as the young boy who followed us around the castle. It makes me wonder if you, too, have changed and haven’t told me.

Now that I’m more familiar with the area, the general in charge here has given me a small unit to command. We mostly go on scouting missions north of the wall or patrol along the river I told you about. The promotion is a show of trust that I both enjoy and dread. It’s nice to have earned the respect of the officers here, but I’m not sure that I’ve earned it. The minor skirmishes I’ve seen don’t feel like enough to warrant the trust they’ve placed in me, never mind there are far more experienced soldiers here.

There are men and women who have served here for decades, and now I’m expected to lead them, as if I know more than them. As if my learning somehow outweighs their practical experience. I believe I’ve probably skipped a few promotions at Bobby’s insistence; the current High Knight of the King’s Guard wants the future High Knight to get as much out of his stay here as possible, and the general here is forced to act accordingly.

Luckily the soldiers under my command are understanding of the situation. They offer advice when I ask for it, and follow the orders I give without complaint. They’re good soldiers, a few knights in their own right, and I feel privileged to get to serve with them.

— Castiel

P.S. I hope this bear will do. Though now I’m worried for the sheep’s safety. I’ll send another herbivore next time so they can band together.

 

* * *

 

Cas,

I was just dicking around when I talked about Sam the Heartthrob, but apparently I was spot on. Lil’ Sammy’s grown up and got himself a crush on a noble lady.

Lady Jess of the Moorelands has come to visit, and Sam is head over heels in love with her after only a week. We actually stayed with her mother while on our tour, but Jess was at boarding school. They’re visiting the castle and for once, I don’t think my father did it to try and play matchmaker. Her mother’s actually a really influential since her home is basically seat of power in the south, so has a ton to discuss with my dad.

Gotta say, I like Jess. She’s about a year younger than Sam. Blond, pretty, on the petite side (at least compared to Sam) and the sweetest girl… until her mother and my father turn their backs, then she’s a spitfire with a wicked sense of humor and a sharp wit. She _pranked_ me, Cas. _She_ pranked _me_.

Long story short, I totally approve and I’m hoping Sam works up the nerve to court her. So far all I’ve seen him do is blush like an idiot and babble about history tomes. I’m trying to help him work up to, you know, telling her she’s pretty or giving her flowers or something. At this rate she’ll go back home thinking of Sam as the dorky, babbling prince who couldn’t put a sentence together unless it was about some obscure fact he’d read in some book.

I think it’s pretty cool that you’ve been given a command. And yeah, Bobby probably had a hand in that, but you just learn as much as you can, okay? Don’t worry about how you got there, just where you’re going.

I kinda know what you mean, though. About the responsibility and not being sure you’re ready for it, even though someday you’ll _have_ to be. My dad’s been adding more to my plate in terms of kingly duties. I’m visiting the nearby towns a lot more, doing charity work and trying to get my people. I signed my first edict the other day. Nothing big, just a tariff on this new metal being used for some swords. And I’m starting to take audiences without my father being there. (Don’t worry, Bobby’s my guard then and nothing’s happened.)

All that’s been kind of exciting, but stressful and terrifying? What if I make the wrong decision? What if I judge a dispute, find someone guilty and sentence them to death, but later find out they _weren’t_ guilty? There’s this pressure to always be right and this constant doubt that everything I do is wrong. It’s not like before when I’d give my opinion during council meetings… this is all on me, whatever the outcome.

And now I’ve babbled on for a couple pages. See, I miss you and just can’t shut up. Can’t wait until you’re home and I can talk to you face to face about all of this.

— Dean

P.S. As long as it’s a _small_ herbivore. Remember, the goal is to get to a squirrel, so don’t go cheating and sending me a horse or something.

 

* * *

 

Dean,

I killed a man yesterday.

It’s like you said, the bards have it all wrong.

I’ve been in a number of battles and skirmishes. I didn’t want you to worry, so I’ve only mentioned a few. To be honest, they’re usually over so quickly and I’m so exhausted afterward, both mentally and physically, that I barely remember the details. Just the general feeling of adrenaline, my heart racing, and my focus narrowed down to what’s right in front of me. The next day I’ll wake up, and my muscles will remind me of the parts I’d forgotten; the running and swinging my sword, wielding my shield or punching a man.

That’s not the case for this. I fear I’ll remember this for the rest of my life in vivid detail.

We were patrolling north of the wall. There were five of us; there’s rarely need for more, and if we do smaller groups it means we can make rounds more often. As we reached the treeline, we were ambushed. A dozen of them to our paltry five. Four, really, since I sent the youngest back to alert the camp and to send reinforcements.

I fought, not really thinking about attacking or killing or buying time, merely surviving. Three men were on me, and I certainly injured one when I clipped his leg. I knew then we stood a chance. They had numbers, but we had the better gear. Nothing but leather to protect them from our honed steel.

One of them knocked Jo down. Ax raised, he was going to kill her for sure. I rushed over and ran him through with my sword. Used my dagger to keep another one back. That’s when the soldier returned with help, our archers killing two men before the rest retreated. None of my men were injured beside a few scrapes and bruises, and I was praised for my quick thinking sending someone back for help.

I killed a man, Dean. I had to clean his blood off of my sword. I had to watch as his body was thrown onto a pyre, knowing full well his family and friends would never get the chance to perform the funeral rites of their people.

I feel bad for taking a life, but at the same time I can’t feel bad for saving Jo. Every time I feel a pang of guilt, I think of how much worse it would’ve been to have to bury Jo instead.

Is this how life will always be? Doing the right thing to save the soldiers under my command, to protect those I care about, all at the expense of strangers doing what _they_ think is right?

Not that I would change things. I’m glad for the life I have, moral dilemmas and all, if that means I can be there to keep people safe. I’ll always do what I need to to keep you safe, and I will do so without regret.

— Castiel

P.S. As you might understand, I wasn’t able to finish my latest carving. I’ll send two next time.

 

* * *

 

Cas,

I’m so proud of you. And I’m glad you’re okay and Jo’s okay and yeah…

I’m not going to lie, that’s exactly the type of letter I’ve dread receiving. I know you’ve told me about some of the other battles you’ve seen, but I also knew you were holding back. Even with your last letter, I know there’s more you’re not telling me. Considering how badly I was shaking when I read that letter, I can’t say I blame you.

I’m going to be king. I’m supposed to do right by my people. If nothing else, I should be able to protect my friends. If I can’t keep my _best friend_ from shit like this, what the hell use am I? The worst part is, your _job_ is to face this kind of danger _because of me_. Because I’m a prince, you’ll always have to deal with this kind of thing.

And then I remember how fucking selfish it is to think like that. I’m focused on _one person_ when there are _thousands_ of people I’m responsible. _Thousands_ of soldiers who face the same thing every day in the name of Winchester, and I’ve never even thought about how they risk their lives so that I can have a kingdom to rule.

Like why are _you_ out there right now, learning how to better protect me, and I’m not? Why isn’t the same training expected of _me_? That I should _see_ and _know_ how my kingdom is protected, how my soldiers live?

I’m going to talk to my father about it. I know _he’s_ spent time with soldiers and knights, and I think I should to.

— Dean

P.S. Cas, seriously, it’s okay. I love the carvings, but I understand if you’re busy with other stuff.

 

* * *

 

Prince Dean,

I’ve been asked by Castiel to write this letter to you, so take heart that he’s well enough to pester me.

Earlier this week a part of the wall was hacked and burned down, letting in a large contingent of northern tribesmen and women. They attacked a nearby village, and as soon as we got word, we were sent out to defend them. Castiel lead one of the squadrons, and I’m sure you’d be proud of how well he did.

Unfortunately Castiel was injured during the battle. He took an arrow to the upper arm. He is in all other ways perfectly healthy, but the injury will prevent him from writing for the time being as it’s too painful, and he will likely.

Castiel wishes that I send you his warm regards and to assure you he’s alright and will write you when he’s able.

(I keep telling him not to strain himself, but as I’m sure you know, he’s stubborn.)

With Sincerest Regards,

Joanna Harvelle

 

* * *

 

Castiel,

I’m so sorry you got hurt! Dean told me about it, and then I felt really guilty because I’ve barely written to you at all since you left. I doubt you’ll even recognize me when you come back, I’ve grown so, and it’ll be even worse if I haven’t tried to talk to you more.

[Sam went on to describe his current lessons and some of the new castle staff. He then talked about Lady Jess in excessive detail for a whole page before apologizing and admitting he liked her alot. “But please don’t tell Dean, he teases me about it enough as is.” Apparently Jess would be visiting again in a few months, this time at Sam’s invitation. He was obviously very excited and quite smitten. If Castiel were a betting man, he’d suspect a proposal is forthcoming.]

Anyway, that’s pretty much it. Please don’t take my lack of letters as a sign I don’t miss you or look forward to your return. It’s crazy to think you’ve been gone over a year… I barely have any memories of you _not_ living with us, and I look forward to having you back in a few months. I know Dean does too.

Dean’s been so worried ever since he got Jo’s letter. He’s been snapping at dad a lot, especially when they talk about military stuff, and he’s been annoyed with Bobby. Basically, he’s freaking out that you got hurt and if you’re feeling up to it, could you send him a letter soon so he stops losing his mind? I know you had Jo send that letter to reassure him, but I’m pretty sure he needs to hear it from _you_ or he won’t believe it. You know how Dean gets…

Hope you’re feeling better and can’t wait to see you soon!

— Sam

 

* * *

 

Cas,

I tried to get my dad to let me visit you but he said no. Wish I could be there for you with more than just this letter right now, because I know if I was hurt, I’d want my best friend there. I also sent along a care package.

Let’s see… there’s some tea, chocolates, a few books since you said there’s not a whole lot up there, some new shirts (the tailors had to guess on the size… I told them just to make them the same as mine so I hope they fit alright…), some incense that’s supposed to be calming and help with healing, and this lotion a healer recommended to help prevent scarring. Dad wouldn’t let me send you new armor.

I have no idea what you actually need, so it’s kind of random stuff… Hope you can use it. I figured having some of those honey cookies you like would cheer you up at least (and hopefully they’re not stale or something by the time they get there… shit maybe this was a bad idea).

Bobby says getting shot isn’t pleasant, but that what he heard makes it sound like you were pretty lucky. Why the fuck your armor didn’t stop it—

I’m not going to start with that, or else I’m just going to get upset.

I miss you. Stay safe. If I get another letter saying you’ve been hurt, I’m going to be pissed. I’ll have to sneak out of here to go check on you myself, and then you’ll have caused a prince to run away from home. You don’t want that kind of scandal on your hands, right? So don’t get hurt.

— Dean

 

* * *

 

[Despite his best efforts, Castiel’s handwriting was a little worse than usual.]

Dean,

The wound is healing nicely and won’t scar too badly. It’s been problematic, though. I’m not able to participate in the usual training exercises since my arm tires out too quickly. Instead, I’ve been helping the officers plan out patrol routes, look over duty rosters, and working with the locals (both villagers and the friendlier northern tribesman). I’ve only ever had a glimpse into the logistics and management of the fort before, and it’s fascinating to see how it’s run.

The rest of the time, I’m stuck in my tent. I appreciate the package you sent, especially the books. I’ve already read them each twice, which should give you an idea how much free time I have at the moment. Each day I visit the healer, I hope they’ll let me return to active duty. The ache I feel whenever I lift my sword, though, warns me ahead of time not to get my hopes up.

I’m fine, really. Relax. Only a few more months and I’ll be home, then you can see for yourself. Don’t go running away; a vagabond prince showing up at camp is the last thing we need.

(I’m teasing, in case that’s not obvious. I would love to see you, but I don’t want you to get in trouble. We’ve lasted several this long, we’ll survive the last of it.)

— Castiel

P.S. Just to further prove I’m alright, I’ve sent my most recent figurines. You can see I’ve lost some of the finer details on the pig, but I think the horse is passable.

 

* * *

 

Cas,

I’m glad you’re alright. I’ll sleep better knowing that; and yeah, I _knew_ that, but hearing it from you is what I needed.

So… I’ve got big news. Sammy went and got himself engaged to Jess. I’ve never seen the kid so happy. Fuck, he’s getting married soon… I should stop calling him a kid.

… Later, maybe. When he’s _actually_ married and a lord of his own castle.

… Shit, my little brother’s going to be lord of his own castle. That’s really really weird.

They don’t want a long engagement, so the wedding plans are already in full swing. That’s all anyone can talk about. Wedding gowns and flowers and rings and guests lists and feasts and celebrations and royal proclamations… I’m happy for Sam, I really am, but it’s exhausting trying to keep up. Luckily I’m not consulted all that much; all I need to do is be there and look princely, which I’ve got twenty two years experience doing, so I should be fine.

And don’t worry, your invitation didn’t get lost in the mail. They haven’t settled on a date yet, but as soon as they do, I’ll let you know.

I’m not gonna lie… this makes me think about my own wedding. Not that I’m planning one, just that I’m glad I didn’t have one forced on me. Yet. Sam’s so genuinely happy and excited… and I know that wouldn’t be me. At least not right now, not with circumstances being what they are. I know my father said I could choose who I marry, but there are still enough restrictions that I don’t feel like master of my own destiny. I don’t want to be terrified of walking down the aisle and being irrevocably bound to someone I barely know.

I want to be able to marry the person I love. And it thrills me that Sam gets that, and depresses me that I don’t.

Glad you’re feeling okay and I hope I get to hear from you soon.

Seriously. You put this letter down and you go grab a pen and paper.

— Dean

P.S. It’s probably a good thing you _told_ me that was supposed to be a pig in a horse, otherwise I’d have been stumped. I’m still holding out hope I’ll get that squirrel, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What Dean says:** I think it’s pretty cool that you’ve been given a command.  
>  **What Dean means:** Holy shit that’s hot. That is **_HOT_**. Holy fuck. Do they call you sir? I bet they call you sir. ~~I’d call you sir.~~


	6. A Royal Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes... i hope you guys like long chapters because this one for some reason wouldn't end. maybe it'll make up for the delayed update?? hopefully??
> 
> anyway, this chapter features more pining from cas and dean (who are twenty-two ish in this chapter), some sam/jess, and some charlie/gilda. next chapter will feature john dying (sorry john, you're actually a decent guy in this fic) and dean and cas gettin' it on ;)  
> (lmao remember when john was supposed to die in chapter three???? what fucking idiot said that shit?)
> 
> feel free to come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/) if you wanna talk deancas, dcj (i've got TWO big bangs posting for that ship soon!!!), or how painful the spn season finale was, i'm there. also, if you want to see the ficlets i post daily, that's where to find them.

The carriage swayed over a rough patch of road and Castiel jolted awake, automatically reaching for the sword that he didn’t have. After a moment of blind panic, he remembered that he wasn’t back at the fort up north and wasn’t under attack. He was returning home to the castle. His sword, like everything else he’d packed, were strapped to the back of the carriage.

With a deep breath, he willed his body to relax. Knowing sleep would elude him for a while, Cas pulled out the book he’d brought to keep himself busy on the ride. Try as he might, he couldn’t lose himself in the words. All he could think about was his arrival back at court.

No, that was a lie. All he could think about was seeing Dean again, and it terrified him more than the prospect of being attacked.

Castiel’s stay had been cut short because of Sam’s impending marriage. The young prince had convinced King John to allow Castiel back early. Actually, if he understood things correctly, Sam more or less gave their father an ultimatum: let Castiel come back and be part of the wedding, or King John might find himself _uninvited_ from the event. It was an idle threat, but it showed Sam’s insistence that Castiel be there, and the king had relented.

It amused him a lot, actually. He’d always thought Dean would call him back early like he did with all those training exercises near the castle, yet it was Sam who ended up being the one to manage it.

There were of course Castiel’s nerves about the wedding itself. He would play a minor role as part of the honor guard for Lady Jess as she walked down the aisle. There would be hundreds of people in attendance, foreign dignitaries as well as nobles from all over Winchester, and any mistake would soon be fodder for gossip. Castiel didn’t have a speaking role, so he suspected there was little he could do to make a fool of himself short of tripping over his own feet and knocking over the bride herself.

No, all his worries centered around Dean.

When he’d first left, eighteen months had seemed like forever, and Castiel had been excited to hear it’d been whittled down to sixteen. Two whole months more time with Dean that had been lost…

Eighteen months was a long time to be away from your home and best friend, but he’d soon realized that sixteen months was hardly any better. What if they’d changed too much to be as close as they once were? What if they never reconnected and there was always that sixteen months worth of distance between them?

Such doubts nagged at him the rest of the journey, up until the very moment he stepped out of the carriage and saw Dean waiting to greet him. He drank in the sight of his best friend, somehow more handsome than Castiel remembered. Taller with broader shoulders and at least a dozen new freckles, he looked every bit the king he would someday be. But then a familiar smile pulled at the corner of his lips as Dean practically charged Castiel and grabbed him in a huge bear hug.

“Cas!” The pressure around his chest was nearly unbearable, but Castiel ignored it and focused on trying to return the hug. “I missed you, buddy. Damn if it isn’t good to have you back… Hasn’t been the same without you.”

When Dean pulled away, Castiel expected a pat on the shoulder or maybe for Dean to muss his hair. Instead, Dean gently pushed aside an errant strand of hair, fingers dragging down Castiel’s cheek and lingering a moment before drawing away.

“Nice peach fuzz. They don’t have razors up north?”

“it’s too hard to shave while traveling,” Castiel muttered and prayed his cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt.

If they were, Dean either didn’t notice or was kind enough not to remark on it. “Well, Sam might let you keep it but Jess’ mom probably won’t. She’s got a ‘vision’ for the wedding. And like, I get it—not every day your daughter marries a prince, right?—but there’s only so many times I can sit in a room and listen to discussions about colors and flowers and friggin ice sculptures as if those are serious matters.”

There were servants already at work taking care of his things, so he followed as Dean headed towards the castle. Just as they crossed the threshold, he grabbed Dean’s hand and slipped something inside.

“Wha—?” Dean held up the figurine, no larger than a thumbnail, and burst into laughter. “Holy shit! You did it! You made me that squirrel!”

“I finished it right before I got the king’s letter calling me back home. It seemed just as easy to bring it with me than to send it.” Dean turned the figure over in his hands and Castiel immediately felt the need to fill the silence. “I know it’s not all that impressive, and if you don’t like it you don’t have to—”

“It’s _awesome_. I’m gonna put it with the rest of them. Got them on a shelf in my room. Tried keeping them on my desk but they just distracted me from studying.”

Was Dean’s smile always stunning? Or had Castiel merely lost any resistance he once had to it after being deprived of it for so long?

“Hope you don’t mind, but I got you a new room. It’s bigger and it’s closer to mine. Not adjoining or anything, but it’ll be nice to have you close. Need my personal guard around, right?” Dean winked as he headed towards the sleeping chambers.

Castiel’s heart might have stopped in that moment.

Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer in Dean’s presence without confessing his undying love for the other man, Castiel forced a yawn. “That sounds fine, Dean. I actually wouldn’t mind having some time to rest before dinner tonight. I’m told I’ll be meeting Sam’s mysterious fiancée, and I want to be up to the task.”

There was an obvious flash of disappointment in Dean’s eyes before he nodded. “‘Course. You’re probably exhausted from the trip. I’ll show you the new room and then get out of your hair for a bit.”

If Castiel felt like a coward as he hid in his room and busied himself with unpacking, no one need know but him.

\- - - -

Dinner was a small, family affair. Well, family plus Castiel.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Jess said the moment they’re all seated around the table. King John and Jess’ mother are already busy talking about wedding plans, effectively ignoring the four young adults. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m sure Sam has been overly generous with anything he’s said about me.”

“Sam?” Jess laughed. “Sam’s told me about you, of course, but I was talking about Dean. If there are three things Dean won’t shut up about it’s pie, his horse, and you.”

“I think that’s a slight exaggeration,” Dean cut in. Jess gave him a look that made it clear she did _not_ think it was an exaggeration, but Dean ignored it. “I _also_ enjoy telling embarrassing stories about Sammy. Too bad they weren’t enough to scare you off and find someone better.”

“Hey!” Sam whined.

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Jess leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “They just make me love you more.”

Throughout dinner, Castiel was too tired to engage much in the conversation, but he delighted in being reunited with Sam and Dean, as well as getting to know Lady Jess. She was polite and good-mannered as any noble lady should be, but there was an undeniable spark hidden beneath the surface. She’d keep Sam on his toes, that was for sure, and Sam would enjoy every minute of it.

Sam had changed a lot. He was of course taller (Dean hadn’t been exaggerating about that) and looked more an adult than the teenager he was. At least until his hair fell over his eyes and he had to flick his head just to see. His voice still cracked, but not often, and Castiel thought he had a good idea what Sam would be like as a grown man.

After dinner, the six of them went to walk the gardens. They weren’t particularly large, but there was a narrow path that wound through. They paired up, King John and Jess’ mother in front (and still arguing over the order of the wedding procession), Sam and Jess went next, which left Dean and Cas to take up the rear. For a moment, Castiel wished Dean would link their arms together like the others, but that was a foolish thought. He did, however, make sure to stand close enough to Dean that their hands occasionally brushed.

It _was_ a narrow path, after all. It was bound to happen.

“Tell me about your trip,” Dean said. He kept his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear, but everyone had wandered far enough ahead that he needn’t have bothered. “And don’t lie and say you already told me everything worth knowing. Seriously, I want to know _everything_.”

“Well,” Cas said as he watched a chipmunk dart across the path ahead of them. “I _did_ write a lot of letters. Unless you want me to recite every meal I had, I don’t think there’s much else.”

“Cas. I said _everything_. If we get to the flavors of oatmeal you ate, then so be it, but I’m not letting you off the hook that easy.”

They talked until they reached the end of the walkway. The king had already excused himself to bed and Jess’ mother stayed only long enough for a formal good-bye. Sam and Jess insisted on talking more, but a yawn from Castiel had Dean calling it a night.

“But—”

“He traveled five hundred miles to get here for your wedding. Let him rest.”

Sam shut his mouth and sheepishly apologized to Cas. “Sorry… I just have so much I want to talk about. There’s only a month until the wedding, and then I’ll only be around a few more weeks before I move to the Moorelands with Jess. Guess I just got a little excited.”

Sam and Jess could live wherever they chose, of course, but they’d decided to move to Jessica’s family’s castle in the mountains. It would give Sam the chance to be master of his own castle instead of living in first his father’s and then his brother’s shadow. Though the lands were beholden to the Winchesters, the Moorelands were the seat of the king’s rule in the southern half of the kingdom. It was an ideal place to have Sam govern, ensuring loyalty and stability.

Hand in hand with that came how much Sam would be missed at court. Dean would likely demand frequent visits, or himself travel south to see his brother, but it would never be quite the same as before. Intellectually, they’d all known this day would come, but as the reality drew nearer, Castiel understood Sam’s desire to spend as much time together as possible.

“It’s quite alright, Sam.” Castiel smiled reassuringly. “I understand. But we’ll have time before then, I’m sure of it.”

The two couples parted ways once they reached the guest quarters. Sam predictably wanted to walk Jess to her room and Dean nudged Cas towards the stairs. Once they reached Dean’s room, now directly on the way to Castiel’s chambers, Dean grabbed Cas by the hand.

“Stay a minute?” Dean begged as he pulled Cas into his bedchambers. “I haven’t seen you in over a year, I’m not letting you go just yet.”

Cas looked at their joined hands, swallowed hard, and nodded. Too soon, Dean let go. Castiel tried not to feel too bereft.

“What do you think of Jess?” Dean asked as he disappeared behind a wooden screen to change. It was a strange nod to modesty, something Dean had never cared about before when Castiel was around.

“I like her. She’s everything I could hope for in a partner for Sam, though I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to see his courtship first hand,” Castiel said as he waited on the other side of the screen. He could hear Dean moving around, pulling off his formal attire and preparing for bed. “They seem quite smitten with each other.”

“Oh, they are.” Dean’s voice was muffled (no doubt pulling off his tunic). “And you didn’t miss much. It was super awkward but super adorable. Did I mention it was awkward? Almost died of second hand embarrassment a couple times.”

“Which I’m sure you mentioned to poor Sam.”

“Uh, yeah. What kind of older brother do you take me for? One who _doesn’t_ tease his little brother?”

“Of course not,” Castiel answered dryly as he wandered over to the bookshelf. True to his word, Dean had arranged all of Castiel’s carvings on a shelf at eye level. The squirrel now had a home perched on the moose’s back. “How could I even think such a thing?”

Dean peaked out from behind the screen. He stuck his tongue out. “And to think I _missed_ you.”

When Dean emerged from behind the screen, he was in nothing but thin, cotton pants that barely covered his knees. It was a monumental effort to keep his eyes above Dean’s shoulders and not let them ravish his bare torso or, worse, the outline of his crotch.

Castiel could _not_ help licking his lips as the errant thought crossed his mind.

For a moment, Castiel actually believed it might be like old times, back when they were twelve and shared a bed nearly every night.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Cas. Glad to have you back.”

It was for the best that it wasn’t like that anymore.

“Good night, Dean.”

He wandered back to his own room. It was more spacious than any room he’d ever had and the bed was infinitely more comfortable than anything at the northern encampment. It still wasn’t as nice as Dean’s room or Dean’s bed, though.

Not for the first time, Cas fell asleep with his hand around his cock while thinking about green eyes and pink lips and miles of freckled skin.

\- - - -

Castiel got caught up in the wedding preparations just like everyone else, though he had the excuse of needing to train. It got him out of numerous situations like ballroom dance lessons, cake tasting, and visits to the tailor. Not that any of those situations were terrible in and of themselves, but after having to dance with Dean and watching Dean moan over cake samples and seeing him in his new, fitted robe, Castiel felt he deserved a break.

The courtyard by the barracks was always open to him. Bobby and the other knights were glad to have him back and were more than happy to spar and parry blows with him. A few of them joked he’d probably gone soft while up north, and Castiel loved showing them wrong. While he was gone, Castiel had lost what little fat he had and gained muscle in its place. He was still more than proficient at the technical and “correct” way of fighting he’d learned as a boy, but experience had taught him how to improvise.

When he’d last been at the castle, Cas won one match in three. Now he won nine in ten. Bobby and Rufus especially were thrilled at his progress. They even talked about him teaching some of the newer recruits; the highest praise either man ever gave was entrusting the younglings’ training to someone other than themselves.

On a particularly hot morning, Castiel decided to bypass the wedding talk altogether. He skipped breakfast and headed outside. Jesse was the only one up and not occupied with guard duty, and he enthusiastically agreed to spar.

“Cesar’s got bruises from the last time he was out here with you,” Jesse said as he got in a fighting stance, his shield raised and his swordhand flexing around the hilt. “Figured I should see for myself if you’re as good as they say.”

“I think it’s more that Cesar’s out of shape,” Castiel said as he struck Jesse’s shield. It wasn’t a hard blow, merely a test of his defenses.

“Are you trash talking?” Jesse barked out a laugh. He launched an attack of his own, far more forcefully than Castiel had, then backed away to avoid Castiel’s counterattack. “Damn, the north was really good for you if it’s got you out of your shell.”

“I was never ‘in my shell.’” He struck again and then nimbly darted around to Jesse’s back, managing to strike his calf with the wooden sword before Jesse yelped and jumped out of the way. “I merely didn’t realize how effective a distraction it was to talk to people while they’re trying to fight.” To prove his point, he whacked first Jesse’s left, then his right shoulder before he could regain his composure.

That was naturally when Castiel noticed movement at the side of the courtyard. He didn’t pay much attention to the person approaching them until they crossed right into his field of vision.

It was Dean.

 _Shirtless_ Dean.

 _Shirtless_ Dean doing fucking _stretches_.

Needless to say, Castiel ended up flat on his ass as Jesse clocked him across the head.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who gets distracted,” Jesse said in a low voice as he helped Castiel to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your prince. Good fight, though.”

Castiel grunted and mumbled what was hopefully a decently polite farewell as Jesse departed.

“You okay?” Dean asked as he jogged towards them. “Damn that looked like a nasty hit…”

“I’m okay.” Castiel dusted himself off and hoped the blush on his cheeks could be blamed on the heat and exertion. “Only thing wounded is my pride.” He followed Dean’s line of sight and saw a large bloody scrape along his left arm. “And apparently my arm.”

“We should get that cleaned up.”

Without waiting for an answer, Dean dragged Castiel to the front of the barracks where supplies were kept. Aside from weapons, armor, and shields, there was a small chest with medical supplies. He pushed Castiel onto a stool and started

“Thought you were a master knight now,” Dean joked as he started dabbing at the cut. “What was the point of going up north if you still get hurt?”

 _This never would’ve happened up north,_ he wanted to say. **_You_** _weren’t there to distract me._

What Castiel actually said was: “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Dean kept working, now unwinding a bandage to put around Castiel’s arm. “Thought I’d come train with you. Figured if _you_ got to ditch all this wedding stuff, _I_ could too. Besides, Bobby’s been telling me what a badass you are now and I wanted to see you in action. See how long it’d take you to pin me on my back.”

Castiel tried not to hear anything suggestive about that statement.

He failed.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” He hoped Dean finished soon; he desperately needed to angle his crotch away from Dean. How could such an innocent touch and an offhand comment make him so embarrassingly hard?

Dean shrugged. “It’s hot out.” He pinned the edge of the bandage in place. “Guess we’ll have to save the sparring for another day. You’re gonna let that heal up first. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“Prince’s orders.”

Castiel didn’t have an adequate rebuttal for that, so he kept his mouth shut.

The injury, though so minor it barely warranted being called such, kept Castiel from training for a few days. Not that he didn’t want to or didn’t feel up to it, but Dean would give him a scathing look every time he so much as hinted at it. He continued to play doctor, making sure Castiel continued to apply the healing ointment and change his bandages once a day.

Cas might or might not have “forgotten” to change them just to have Dean do it himself.

The lack of escape did force both Castiel and Dean to spend more time dealing with wedding preparations. As the wedding drew closer, that mostly meant Dean being available to greet arriving nobles and make sure they were comfortably situated within the castle. For Castiel, it saw a proper return to his guard duty.

Castiel was disappointed to find out that neither Lisa nor Meg would be attending (Sam implied that Lisa was embarrassed that her and Dean didn’t hit it off romantically) and perhaps, selfishly, a little relieved to hear that Benny wouldn’t be, either. He had a passing familiarity with several of the guests in attendance, but most were virtual strangers to him. Probably to Dean as well, but he welcomed them each warmly and made an effort to know them all personally.

Three days before the wedding, a new arrival was announced—the Princess of Moondoor—and Dean practically bolted to the castle gates to meet her. Castiel was wary as he followed Dean out and his heart surely stopped beating when he saw a red-headed woman spring out of the carriage and right into Dean’s waiting arms.

Dean spun her around a few times before kissing her cheek and putting her down. Immediately, she punched Dean on the shoulder.

“And here I thought you were kidding when you said I was your favorite princess.”

“I would _never_ kid about that,” Dean answered with fake solemnity. “So what you been up to, Red?”

“The usual. Kicking ass and taking names.”

“Uh huh. And I’m thinking that means you’ve been _reading_ about knights kicking ass and figure that counts.”

“Rude!” She punched him again and Dean stepped back laughing. “Is this how you treat all your guests, Winchester? You should _never_ doubt a lady’s word.”

“Right right, real sorry about that. You’ve done all the ass kicking you want and I’ll never doubt it again.”

The instant familiarity between this woman and Dean was incomprehensible to Castiel. Dean had never behaved like this with _any_ of the other guests to the palace, except perhaps Meg when they were children and Benny more recently, but certainly not any noble ladies. And a _princess_?

What if Dean had finally found someone he was willing to marry?

His rabidly spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Dean.

“Cas, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Cas.”

Charlie came over and hugged him. “ _You’re_ the infamous Cas I’ve heard so much about?”

“Yes?” It was awkward hugging a stranger, the more so because Castiel had the terrible suspicion that he’d hate this woman if she married Dean. “And you are?”

“Really pissed off Dean didn’t mention me?” She whirled at Dean and put her arms up as though to hit him again, but he backed out of range before she could. “You don’t even tell your best friend about me? That’s low, Dean. Real low.”

Dean splayed his arms in apology. “Sorry, it just didn’t have time with the wedding and… stuff…”

“Stuff. Riiight.” Charlie rolled her eyes and turned back to Cas with a soft smile on her face. “I’m Charlie, heir to the Moondoor throne. I visited Winchester last winter to help negotiate mutual trade routes through our kingdoms. Got snowed in and stayed a whole month with this loser and his way cooler younger brother.”

“Hey!”

“Oh puh- _lease_ ,” Charlie said dismissively. “He grew up with you two, he knows Sam’s the cooler one, right?”

Noting Charlie’s wink, hidden from Dean’s view, Castiel was tempted to play along.

Then he remembered the affectionate greeting she’d shared with Dean, and his expression hardened. “While I do think Sam is wonderful, I do believe Dean is the ‘cooler’ one.”

“Ugggh he’s not just dreamy, he’s _loyal_ , too.”

Charlie pouted while Dean grinned from ear to ear. Castiel couldn’t even pretend to feel bad about it.

Dean lead the way inside and Castiel fell into step behind them, within earshot but not so close that he was expected to contribute to the conversation. He knew he would be useless right now; words escaped him even in the privacy of his own mind, nothing but thoughts and fears running rampant and his imagination playing images of a royal wedding but instead of Sam walking down the aisle with Jess it was Dean and Charlie, leaving him behind and—

And he really needed to just _breathe_.

Forcing himself to shut down his emotional meltdown, Castiel tried to focus on the people in front of him. Dean and Charlie were both relaxed with each other, telling jokes while chatting about their lives. There an obvious warmth in their gazes, but it reminded him more of how Dean acted around Jess than with, say, Benny. They walked close, closer than Dean did with the other guests, but their hands didn’t lock together. It was entirely possible that Castiel was only reading their interactions as he wished to, but he didn’t see secret lovers reuniting after months apart.

If Dean loved Charlie, it was a muted sort of love. No passion or uncontainable lust, at least not yet. That meant Castiel had time.

 _Time for what?_ he asked himself. _To sabotage their relationship?_

_Time to get used to the idea of Dean getting married. And not as some far off ‘maybe’ but as a very real possibility._

_What is this then? **Practice** for when my heart gets ripped out and I’m forced to watch, day in and day out, as Dean’s happy with another?_

_Yes._

Castiel dealt with his foul mood and dejection for the rest of the day. The only thing that cheered him was to see Sam give Charlie an equally warm welcome. Perhaps she’d merely gotten along well with both brothers and Castiel was reading more into things than he should. It was a comforting idea, but it didn't make Castiel feel any less anxious.

When he escorted Dean to his bed chambers, Dean tried to pull him inside as usual. They’d continued to trade accounts of their time apart, needing more than one or even a dozen evenings together to do it.

And yet in all that time, Dean had never mentioned Charlie.

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose and backed away. “Not tonight.” He couldn’t even meet Dean’s eyes as he said it. “I’m exhausted.”

“You sure? I could have a servant bring us some port and we could just relax—”

“Dean,” he said sternly. “Truly, I’m tired. I want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep until the damn chickens wake me up.”

Dean looked hurt at the rebuff. Even though guilt coursed through him, Cas couldn’t muster the energy to comfort him.

“Yeah. Yeah okay, Cas. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

The walk to his room was lonelier than ever, the walls of his chambers mocking him with the empty space that would forever be his and no one else’s.

Sleep eluded him despite his exhaustion. After tossing and turning, Castiel gave up and threw off his blankets and lit a candle. At the edge of his bed was a chest with most of his personal effects. Books, a few pieces of wood half-formed into creatures, a few keepsakes of his father’s and, presumably, of his mother’s. And underneath them all, bound in leather to keep them safe, was a bundle of letters.

The ones from Sam and Bobby were on top, and he carefully placed them to the side. The rest, a sizeable pile, were all from Dean. He’d saved every letter he’d received while up north and sometimes reread them during those times when he couldn’t quite remember what home was like. It’d been a great comfort to him back then, and he hoped they would be now as well. It was a reminder that, no matter how much more Castiel wanted from his relationship with Dean, Dean cared about him immensely.

It would have to do.

\- - - -

Castiel was half-convinced Dean would announce his engagement to Charlie any day now.

At least until he learned the hard way that he should _knock_ before entering rooms.

It was a bad habit that he’d never needed to worry about. Among knights and soldiers, privacy was never something you expected for yourself and not something you felt guilty about depriving from others. It was a fact of life, one beyond all their control, and they dealt with it as such. Castiel’d stumbled upon men and women in all sorts of compromising positions (some more obvious than others); every time, they’d brushed it off and continued about their duties.

Life at court was somewhat different, but as both a knight of the King’s Guard and a bodyguard for Dean, Castiel had the privilege of going where he pleased, when he pleased. The worst he’d seen is Sam or Dean in a moderate state of undress, but both princes’ chambers had the benefit of actual doors with locks on them; if they didn’t want to be disturbed, they merely locked the door.

All of these justifications flew out the window when he went to fetch Charlie for a dance rehearsal. He’d marched right up to her room, gave the courtesy of rapping his knuckles on the door, and then burst inside without waiting for a response.

“Oh!” He blushed profusely. “My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlie said. She was breathless but not at all embarrassed to be caught straddling the handmaiden splayed out on her bed. Thank the gods for small mercies; they both were fully dressed. Ducking down for a final kiss, Charlie pushed off the bed. Her handmaiden did the same, then quickly rearranged Charlie’s hair into some semblance of order. Satisfied, the girl nodded before ducking out the servant’s entrance in the back of the room.

“Again, I’m very sorry—”

“Oh, don’t let Gilda running off make you think you did anything wrong. She’s just shy. So what’s up? What brings you to my side of the castle?”

“There’s a dance rehearsal for anyone who’s interested. The king wanted everyone to have the chance to learn some of the more intricate dances of Winchester. There’s a tutor in the ballroom waiting.” Cas rattled off the information as quickly as possible so he could get back to what he considered the more pressing issue. “You were kissing your handmaiden.”

“Yeah. She and I have been together ever since she joined my service a few months ago. I don’t think she plans on staying with me long, though. She’s a free spirit and all that, doesn’t like to stay in one place. Figured I’d get the most out of it while I can.”

“Ah. Does Dean know?”

Why the hell did he say that?

Charlie snorted. “I don’t think Dean much cares if _I_ or anyone else sleeps with their servants. He’s not exactly in a position to judge. But yes, I told him all about Gilda. He said I should bring her as my date to the wedding, but I was worried King John might not approve. Didn’t want to cause an international incident for the sake of getting laid by someone who already shares my bed every night. And most mornings. Afternoons, too, if we’re up for it—”

“So she won’t be joining you in the ballroom?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Don’t want to keep this tutor guy waiting. Lead the way.”

After dropping Charlie off at the ballroom (and wondering just what _else_ he might have misinterpreted in regards to Dean and Charlie’s relationship), he was pulled aside by a very annoyed Sam.

“I know Jess said he didn’t have to come, but Dean should be here,” Sam grumbled. “There are five different kingdoms represented in this room, and as future king he should _be here_ to help.”

“I thought he was going to come?” Castiel had been dreading watching Dean and Charlie dance together (now he had no idea _what_ he’d think if he saw them twirling about the floor, but he was a lot more curious about it now), so he _knew_ Dean was planning on attending.

“He disappeared after lunch. Made up some half-assed excuse.”

“Would you like me to find him?”

“Could you?” Sam sounded exhausted, the young man’s almost infinite patience being put to the test as they tried to wrangle together this wedding. “I don’t know if you wanted to be here for the dancing or—”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t planning on dancing, anyway.”

_No partner I’d be willing to dance **with** , so why bother learning the steps?_

 

Sam gave him A Look but Castiel didn’t waste time trying to decipher it. Instead he went looking for Dean. He started with the council chambers and library, even the courtyard and gardens. It wasn’t as though he expected to find him there, but they were all on the way to the living quarters anyway.

As he approached Dean’s room, he was startled to see the door push open just enough for a young lady to slip out. Her hair was in disarray and her dress no better as she re-tied the sashes of her apron. She looked familiar—likely one of the servants of the visiting nobility—and Castiel was about to ask if she was lost. When she caught Castiel’s eye, she yelped and blushed profusely. After a quick wave in greeting, she scurried own the opposite direction of the hallway.

That was… strange.

It didn’t click for him until he entered Dean’s room and saw him pulling his pants back on. Both Dean and his bed were a mess, his hair as wild as his bedsheets, and Castiel knew with utter certainty what had transpired.

“Did you forget—? Cas!” Dean looked mortified. “I uh… I wasn’t expecting—”

“Sam sent me.” He felt numb. He was now very aware that Charlie and Dean were not the couple he thought them to be, but this was no better. Walking in after one of Dean’s _liaisons_ with a servant… “He needs your help in the ballroom.”

Without waiting to be sure Dean was following him, he spun on his heels and started back to the ballroom.

“Wait— Cas! _Cas_!” Dean ran to catch up. It took Dean physically grabbing Cas’ shoulder and spinning him around to get him to stop. “Are you upset?”

_Yes._

“Of course not. Why would I be upset?”

“I dunno, you...” Dean struggled to find the right words before giving up. “You just seem like you are.”

“I’m not.” _I am, but I recognize I have no right to be._

“Okay, well… good.” They continued walking, side beside instead of Castiel taking his guard position behind him. “‘Cuz there’s nothing to be upset about. I mean… Lots of people have affairs with servants. It’s no big deal.” He swallowed. “Right?”

“So it’s not serious?”

“It’s _never_ serious,” Dean said solemnly.

“Never?” Castiel nearly tripped over his feet, barely managing to keep himself from toppling over. “You’ve done this before?”

“Yeah? This is the only time since you’ve come back, so I guess you haven’t… noticed… But I’ve done it a few times before.”

_I was up north learning how to protect you better, and you were here bedding servants._

“It’s just for fun,” Dean said, a pleading note to his voice as he begged Cas to understand. “I don’t do it a whole lot, but sometimes I need a… a distraction.”

“... So you’re not actually interested in these women—men?—just the sex?”

Dean groaned. “You make me sound like a dick when you put it like that, but yes. I mean, they’re pretty and they’re nice and the sex is fun, but I’m not interested in more than that. It’s just stress relief, and they know that.”

_What could dean possibly be stressed about?_

“They do?”

“Yeah. Why do you think I only fool around with the servants? I wouldn’t do it with these noble ladies my dad keeps parading around. They see stuff like that as a commitment, and I don’t wanna lead them on. I still mean what I said before, about not wanting to marry someone unless it’s for love. The servants all know that, they live here, they’ve heard me or my dad or someone else say it, or they’re from somewhere else and know it’s got an expiration date. They’re just in it for the fun and the thrill of knowing they’ve bedded a prince.”

“Oh.” They walked on in silence as he pleaded with himself _Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask—_ “Do you ever long for more? For more than… a tryst?”

“Long for?” Dean chuckled bitterly. “Sure, but what’s the point? I can’t start a relationship with someone when I’ve got this whole… marriage thing hanging over me.”

“Unless they were a noble woman, you mean.”

Dean looked uncomfortable and actually turned away as he answered. “Yeah, that.”

Nothing about Dean’s answer satisfied him, but he supposed that was _his_ problem. His jealousy, his longing, those were _his_ problems.

He’d simply have to learn to deal with it.

\- - - -

There’d been so much energy thrown into the wedding preparations that when the wedding itself arrived, it went off without a hitch.

No one tripped on the way down the aisle. No one forgot what to say or stuttered through the vows. Sam looked handsome and Jess radiant, both so undoubtedly in love that Castiel was overcome with joy for them.

The banquet afterward was somewhat splendid, with course after course of delectable dishes and ample amounts of wine and ale available. As an actual guest instead of a mere guard in attendance, Castiel was allowed his own place at the table and even indulged in a more food and drink than he usually did.

King John was in particularly good spirits. He happily announced to all who would listen that at least _one_ of his boys would be married within his lifetime. Dean rolled his eyes and scowled, obviously drinking in excess to help wash away his father’s jabs.

The atmosphere was jubilant and the effect was only heightened as they started transitioning to the ballroom. Sam and Jess danced almost exclusively with each other, as was their right on their wedding day, but everyone else traded partners frequently.

Charlie begged Castiel to dance with her and he finally relented; he felt guilty for his earlier coldness towards her and was looking for opportunities to show he held no grudge against her. Upon further reflection, Castiel realized he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about her and Dean. They were comfortable around each other, but in a way that mirrored how Dean behaved around Sam or Jess. Charlie clearly had no romantic interest in Dean, and neither did Dean. She must have noticed the chance ever since he caught her with Gilda, because she’d gone out of her way to spend more time with him, and he was glad to see her as a friend now.

After a few dances, Castiel ducked out into the gardens. He wasn’t much for parties and felt completely drained of energy. A little time to himself would help him recharge and join the guests for more dancing and entertainment.

The sounds of merriment grew louder as a door opened, then were muffled again as it shut. Steps approached, headed straight for where he sat by a fountain, and he knew who it must be.

“You don’t like dancing?” Dean asked as he offered a flask.

“Not particularly.” He accepted the flask. The liquor burned on the way down. It wasn’t unpleasant, so he took another drink. The buzz he’d managed throughout dinner had faded during the few rounds of dancing. More alcohol was definitely welcome.

“You sure? The Duchess of Campbell’s daughter’s been looking at you all night.”

“Isn’t she your cousin?”

“Second cousin or something, but yeah. She was making eyes at you, though. You wanna dancing partner, I could introduce you two.”

The way Dean said ‘dancing partner’ made Cas think he meant something else.

“No thanks. I’m not interested in a ‘dancing partner,’ no matter how literal or metaphorical.”

“Really? There's no one you'd be interested in?” Dean's tone was sceptical but curious.

Surely it was the whiskey Dean had given him that made him answer the way he did. “Well… there is… _one_ person…”

“Oooooh, Cas has got himself a crush, huh? C'mon, you gotta tell me who it is. You've _never_ talked about a crush _ever_ , I gotta know who's good enough to get the unflappable Sir Castiel riled up.”

Dean smiled but it was so strained it looked like a grimace. Castiel was too busy staring at his feet to notice.

“Just… someone…” He'd already said too much, wondered how he could possibly get himself out of this situation without lying.”

“You’re my best friend. I swear I won’t tell anyone. Maybe I can even help you win her over—”

“Him,” Castiel automatically interrupted.

Dean stared at him blankly for a while before licking his lips. “What?”

“The person I’m… interested in. It’s a man, not a woman.”

The moment of silence that followed that declaration dragged out so long that Castiel finished off the flask to fill it with _something_ other than the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“You like a man?” Dean asked. “Huh.” Then with a shake of his head, Dean plowed right on. “Okay, well, why haven’t you pursued him? Is he already in a relationship? Does he not like other men?”

“Well,” Cas hedged. His brain told him this was a bad idea and to stay quiet, but the alcohol in his system overrode that decision. Dean was asking him, and he’d never been particularly good at lying to Dean or denying him anything he wanted. “He’s attracted to other men and he is not currently in a relationship, but it’s totally hopeless. He’s well out of my league, and I don’t think I could handle the heartbreak of him telling me such.”

The idea of Dean looking at him with pity every day for the rest of his life was almost as bad as the knowledge that he’d never have Dean.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He frowned in confusion as he tried to process what Cas had told him. “Cas,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllable. “You’re a knight of the King’s Guard. You’re going to be High Knight someday… There are only about five families in the whole realm who wouldn’t welcome you into their family with open arms—”

“Dean!”

They both turned to see Jess standing at the edge of the garden, scolding him with a finger. “You may be my prince and future king, but right now you’re my brother-in-law and I _insist_ on a dance with you on my wedding day.”

Castiel was sure that if it were anyone else save Jess who’d interrupted them, Dean would’ve ignored them. He still looked like he desperately wanted to, but thank the gods he stood up.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? I wanna help,” Dean whispered before walking towards Jess. “Well, if you _insist_ …”

Castiel avoided Dean for the rest of the night, hoping that Dean was as drunk as he was and he wouldn’t remember their conversation enough to pursue it. Luckily the ballroom was so crowded and full of distractions that he easily found other ways to occupy himself and make it impossible for Dean to get him alone. The few times they ended up in the same circle of guests, Dean’s eyes never left Castiel, his expression unreadable.

It took quite a bit of work, but he managed to find the perfect time to slip out unnoticed. At the final toasts for the evening, the king called the whole family over. It was the last part of tonight’s party, the one moment to prelude everyone heading back to their rooms, and Castiel took the opportunity to leave when Dean would be unable to follow him. The castle was quiet as he fled back to his room.

What would Cas even say to Dean when this came up again? And yes, he had no doubts that it _would_ come up again. Dean wasn’t one to let something like this lie. Like a dog with a bone, he’d never let it go until he was satisfied.

Should he make up someone he’d left behind up north? No, that wouldn’t make sense. No one there was ‘out of his league’ and any soldier could easily be transferred here if Dean was willing to help. Besides, Gordon was back and Dean would likely pester the other knight for information. Castiel’s lie would easily be discovered for what it was, and then he’d have to explain to Dean _why_ he’d felt the need to lie at all.

Perhaps instead he could make up some foreign lover who’d be leaving once the wedding celebration was done. Yes, that seemed reasonable. Dean couldn’t help set up a match between Castiel and someone from outside the kingdom, and he certainly wouldn’t allow Castiel to move. Well, perhaps ‘allow’ was a strong word; if Castiel truly wanted to leave, he suspected Dean would let him, but he and Dean were best friends and Castiel was sworn to his service. Their fates, for better or worse, were joined.

The whole night, Castiel lay in his bed half-awake. He combed through what he could remember of the foreign guests to try and find a reasonable person for it to be. He settled on Prince Balthazar from the Southron Isles. He fit the only criteria he thought might matter: he was male, foreign, and around the same age as him.

When he finally drifted off, he felt reasonably better.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t a bundle of nerves the next morning when he went to escort Dean down for breakfast. They’d be alone for the first time since their talk with no avenue for Castiel to escape if the conversation became what he knew it would be.

 _He’s your best friend,_ he scolded himself as he approached Dean’s chambers. _You have nothing to fear._

_… Except that he’ll find out you’re hopelessly in love with him. That might make things uncomfortable._

His worries were unfounded, though. As soon as Dean waved him into his room, he sat down on the edge of his bed.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean asked. “Because if you don’t, I won’t make you. If this is a burden you think you gotta bear alone, then you do that. But if you _want_ to, let me know. I’m here for you, however you need me.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Seeing the out for what it was, he took it. He might not be good at lying to Dean, but he’d gotten particularly good at hiding this one particular thing from him. Talking about it just made it less likely he could maintain the charade. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Yeah, I get that. Not gonna lie, I’m still curious, but I get that you want your privacy. Lemme know if you change your mind, okay?”

“Yes, Dean.”

_But I won’t._

\- - - -

Dean acted weird around Castiel after that; he was very watchful of him, particularly when he interacted with nobles. True to his word, he never brought up Cas’ mystery crush again, but it was obviously still on his mind. As the celebrations died down and their guests started leaving, Dean calmed down.

Charlie was among the last to go home. When she first arrived, Castiel looked forward to her leaving, but now he was in a place where he could admit he was sad to see her go. Not only was she a good influence on Dean, coaxing smiles from him even as he tried to mope about his brother’s impending departure, but she was a good influence on Castiel. She helped take his mind off of his growing selfish desire to have Dean to himself and his fears that someday Dean would catch on. Everything with her was light and fun, her happiness infectious to all around her.

As her carriage pulled up, she punched Dean in the shoulder, faked a punch to Sam’s chin, and then hugged Jess. When it was Castiel’s turn, he wondered which treatment he’d get.

Charlie held out her hand and he accepted, only to find himself pulled into a hug.

“Goodbye, Cas. Good luck,” she whispered before pulling back.

“Good luck?” He narrowed his eyes as he racked his brain to figure out what she meant.. “With what?”

She gave him a pitying look. “Oh my naive knight.”

Without another word, she waved goodbye and climbed into her carriage where Gilda already waited for her. They watched until the carriage pulled out of sight through the gates. All Castiel could do was wonder what the _hell_ Charlie had been talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **what charlie thinks she's saying:** good luck with dean. i know you two goobers are totally in love and just need to get off your asses and _do_ something about it. i mean, the last time i was here dean literally did nothing but talk about you. i thought with all his pining it might be a one-sided thing but after meeting you it's _definitely_ not one-sided. so yeah, good luck :) i believe in you guys!!
> 
>  
> 
>  **when charlie realizes cas has no clue what she's talking about:** yikes this is worse than i thought...


	7. Long Live the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! An update :)
> 
> Though to be completely truthful, as much as I strive for bi-weekly updates, I can't guarantee the next one will follow that schedule. I've got to focus on tropefest in preparation for check-ins, plus I'm moving soon so I'm sure that'll eat up a whole chunk of time... But hey, at least there'll be a little less pining and angst between now and then ;) 
> 
> In the mean time, you can visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com). When I'm not posting stuff on ao3, I'm writing ficlets pretty much daily there. Oh! And keep an eye out for my Dystopia Big Bang which will be posting on Monday!
> 
> In this chapter the boys are 23-24 ish. It takes place a few years after Sam's wedding. Enjoy! (and make sure you check out the new tags...)

Castiel was woken from his slumber by urgent knocking at his door. Half-asleep, he’d managed to get his pants and a tunic on to appear almost respectable when he answered the door. A terrified looking serving boy handed him a missive, bowed, and then ran off without another word. The parchment bore the council’s seal and the quickly scrawled note was obviously in Marv’s handwriting.

With a yawn, Castiel went to light a candle and read the note. It must be important if they’d troubled him so late at night (or was it early? he thought he saw pre-dawn light twinkling through his window). King John wasn’t at the castle, and sole responsibility of the region had fallen onto Dean’s shoulders. It wasn’t terribly burdensome for the young prince—good practice, really—but it did mean interruptions to both his and Castiel’s sleep should important matters come up. Dean because he was expected to mediate the situation, and Castiel because _he_ was expected to fetch Dean.

Though that was probably for the best. If the servant had been scared of disturbing _Castiel_ of all people, he surely would’ve been frozen in terror at the prospect of waking his _prince_.

The note said very little, not much other than that it was urgent and to bring Dean as soon as possible. Even so, Castiel didn’t hurry too much. Marv’s idea of “urgent” wasn’t necessarily Dean’s, and Castiel thought his friend would prefer the few extra minutes sleep. He took his time to fetch his boots and properly hang his sword belt, though he opted not to wear his usual armor. He could change later, once they dealt with whatever nonsense Marv had called a meeting for. The last time had been about a shortage of truffles and his concern about an upcoming feast, so Castiel had high expectations for the how amusing the discussion would be but not for the actual _importance_ of it.

Satisfied with his appearance, he grabbed the parchment and headed off to fetch Dean.

He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he arrived. Clearing his throat to make sure his voice was ready, Castiel knocked on the door. If he weren’t in a rush and so damn tired, he might’ve waited for an answer. Or perhaps he would’ve seen the candle light visible under the door.

But he _didn’t_ wait for a knock and he _didn’t_ notice the light and, strangely enough, he _didn’t_ hear anything that would’ve warned him away. In the mere seconds between him knocking and pushing open the thick door, Castiel found himself very much wishing he _had_ waited.

Right against the wall by the bookshelf, Dean was vigorously fucking into one of the chambermaids.

“Ohh ohhh ohhhhh!” moaned a woman with each thrust. The woman leaned against the wall and Dean stood behind her, eyes closed and face contorted in bliss. The servant herself looked vaguely familiar, but from this angle Castiel could see no more than dark hair and tan skin and he honestly wasn’t sure he cared to see more. Especially not when he could take this rare opportunity to see Dean in the throes of passion. He looked positively _divine_ , a god incarnate, tempting Castiel into sin because all he wanted to do was touch and taste and—

“Dean?” he squeaked out, mostly to break the spell.

Dean gasped in shock, eyes flying open and immediately seeking Castiel’s. They stared at each other, locked in a staring match as Dean’s hips twitched and moved faster.

“Cas…” Dean moaned. “ _Cas_!”

Finally Castiel came back to himself. He quickly turned away and backed out of the chamber to allow Dean and his lover some privacy. Part of him was annoyed that Dean seemed so intent on finishing their encounter, but Castiel knew it was wrong of him to judge so harshly. If it’d been _him_ with a lover (with _Dean_ , his mind corrected), surely he’d be reluctant to stop as well.

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, Castiel lingered by the door. He should close it all the way, but he couldn’t help but leave it open just a smidge; he was far too selfish to pass up on the opportunity to hear what Dean sounded like as he came.

He wasn’t disappointed. Dean’s gasps and whimpers were barely audible but distinctly there, a beautiful sound that would haunt Castiel’s dreams for years to come.

As soon as the room grew quiet, Castiel backed away. He didn’t stray too far, but enough to make it appear he hadn’t been listening. The chambermaid darted out of the room, blushing and bowing to Castiel before fleeing down the hallway. He took that as his cue to reenter.

“Are you decent, my lord?” Castiel asked from the doorway, eyes averted.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Dean’s cheeks were flushed and he was still straightening out his pants. He looked so relaxed and at ease, despite his obvious embarrassment, and motioned for Castiel to come farther into the room. “Sorry about that. I uh… I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

Castiel gave a half-shrug. “There’s no need to apologize. I should’ve knocked more loudly and waited for a response. You shouldn’t be embarrassed by what you do in the privacy of your own chambers.”

“I’m—I’m not really embarrassed. I’m worried I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t,” he assured him.

It was true. Castiel wasn’t at all bothered by Dean’s show of virility. It’d taken him some time to learn how to handle his jealousy, but he by no means held it against Dean that he had needs. there were servants here both willing and eager to help their prince meet those needs, something Castiel himself was unable to do. He cared for Dean, wanted to see his friend happy, and it appeared these men and women made him happy. It wasn’t in him to begrudge Dean these stolen moments.

As always when Castiel dismissed Dean’s affairs so casually, Dean scowled. “Well, good.” He shifted awkwardly before asking, “What brought you to my chambers so early on this fine day? Is there news of my father’s return?”

“I don’t know.” He handed over the parchment, almost completely forgotten, and let Dean see for himself. “Marv sent me to get you. There’s a privy council meeting soon. They’ve no doubt convened and are waiting for us.”

Dean made a face. “I swear to the old gods, if this is about something as idiotic as truffles or dying bees or whatever other nonsense he’s gotten into his head, I’m going to put him in the stocks.”

“Bees dying is an important issue, Dean,” Castiel said solemnly.

“I hate you, you know that?” There wasn’t a trace of malice or even petty annoyance behind it, making Castiel’s lips twitch in amusement.

“So you’ve said.”

Their good mood evaporated the moment they stepped into the council chambers. Everyone was seated around the table in the bedclothes, looking somber and more awake than Castiel would’ve expected.

“What happened?” Dean asked. Gone was the tired young man woken earlier than he wanted to be. Now they were in the presence of Prince Dean, heir to the throne and lord of them all. He took the seat at the head of the table. “Tell me.”

The men and women gathered there exchanged looks before Frank scoffed at them and spoke up. “We got news of your father.”

Dean relaxed minutely, no doubt relieved that nothing had happened to Sam, before nodding. “And?”

Even Frank hesitated. In that moment, Castiel knew it was bad. “The King… he… he’s dead, my lord. He died in a border skirmish along the northeast expanse. He was injured in the attack and the healers couldn’t save him. A messenger rode ahead to let us know, but they’re already on the way back with his majesty’s body. We need to make arrangements for a funeral and your coronation…”

Frank kept talking, but Castiel stopped listening. All his attention was on Dean. He didn’t look distraught—no tears threatened and his expression remained neutral, almost impassive—yet Castiel worried. The king had been a good man and a loving father; no doubt Dean was taking this harder than he let on, hiding behind his duty to get him through the next few hours.

“Send a messenger to Sam,” Dean interrupted.

Frank stuttered to a halt and looked lost. “My lord?”

“Send a messenger to Sam. He needs to know, he needs time to get here before the funeral. Send a messenger _now_.”

The council members jumped in surprise at the harshness of the order before Marv got to his feet and ran out to do as instructed.

“The funeral will be held as soon as Sam arrives,” Dean continued. “Make all the preparations. There needs to be a public viewing. Make the necessary proclamations. Find out when Bobby’s due to arrive with the…” Dean grimaced but otherwise showed no emotion. “Find out when he’ll be back, set the viewing for the following day.

“The period of mourning shall last a month from the day he died. Once that time has ended, we’ll have the official coronation. Find the best tailors and jewelers around and set them to work on my coronation garb. Have them making something for Sam, Jess and their boy. Send out messengers to all the relevant nobles in Winchester and our allies abroad. Make sure you specify that we know it’s short notice and will not be offended if they can’t make the journey.

“As for the coronation banquet, just do whatever you did for Sam’s wedding but scale it down. Though I’m of course proud to take the throne and do my part for my kingdom, this is a sad occasion. Make it clear that Winchester is hopeful for the future but will not forget their late king so soon.”

A scribe hastily made notes. Dean ignored him and everyone else in the room, his eyes focused on some distant spot on the opposite wall. Castiel yearned to reach out and sooth his friend, but this wasn’t his friend right now. This was his prince, nay his _king,_ and there was scant any sign of the boy he remembered meeting so many years ago. This was the man who would take the throne in just over a month.

Castiel had never before understood what it meant to love someone so wholeheartedly that their pain was his pain. Not even when his own father had died did Castiel ache

Castiel also hadn’t quite understood before how completely head over heels in love he was with Dean until then either, but the awe he felt at that realization meant nothing. Not in comparison to the need he felt to comfort Dean.

It was hours before everything was sorted out. They took breakfast in the council chambers, lunch as well, and only then was Dean able to escape back to his room. Castiel suspected he would’ve stayed longer, used the excuse of meetings to distract him from the heartache brewing beneath the surface. Castiel wouldn’t allow it; when there was a brief lull in the conversation, he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed.

Dean looked up at him as though shocked that Castiel was still behind him. He didn’t protest when Castiel nodded towards the door and sternly waited for him to follow.

“Yeah, okay,” he grumbled. “We’ll continue this tonight—”

“Tomorrow,” Castiel corrected. “The prince- _king_ needs his rest.”

No one argued and the two departed. Castiel was convinced he’d made the right call when Dean nearly stumbled into his room and all but collapsed on his bed.

“I’ve never been so tired in my life.”

“Understandable.” Castiel moved to pull of Dean’s boots. His legs were a dead weight, completely unresponsive. “You’ve never become a king before.”

Dean flashed a half-smile before a yawn swallowed it up. “Wake me up when it’s time for the coronation? I don’t think I can handle the funeral…”

“Would that I could,” Castiel said truthfully. “Though I think they’d notice if you didn’t attend.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

Silence took over and Castiel started to leave. He wished there was time for a bath, but he longed for sleep as much as Dean did. Perhaps if he took a short nap, he’d have time—

“Stay?” Dean’s voice trembled. It was so quiet and timid that it broke Castiel’s heart. “I—I don’t want to be alone right now. Please?”

“Of course, Dean.” He sat on the edge of the bed, intent on keeping watch over Dean while he slept.

Dean had other plans. He pulled back the covers and pat the free side of the bed. “You’re as tired as I am. Sleep.”

Castiel stood there, unsure how to proceed. This was foreign territory for them, a line they hadn’t crossed since they were twelve. Castiel wasn’t sure it was a good idea—it blurred too many lines he already had trouble with—but then Dean added a quiet, “Please.”

Castiel never was very good at saying no to Dean. He admonished himself for his own weakness as he kicked off his own boots, put his sword aside, and climbed in next to his friend. He maintained a respectable distance, almost teetering off the edge of the bed, and faced Dean.

“Just like when we were kids, huh?” Dean said.

“Mmm,” Castiel agreed. He’d missed this terribly, but he was old enough now to see the danger in it. “Get some sleep, Dean.”

“You too, Cas.”

\- - - -

It became a routine. One they didn’t discuss, but a routine nonetheless. Dean would work himself to exhaustion to keep from thinking about his father’s death, Castiel would force him to get some rest, and then Dean would ask him to stay. And he stayed. Every time.

Regardless, they never spoke of it. Dean no longer even bothered to ask Castiel to stay, he simply went to his side of the bed and looked at Castiel expectantly.

They slept but no more than that. Each kept safely to their own side of the bed, not even a toe crossing the unspoken neutral territory between them. It was everything Castiel had wanted and at the same time so much _less_. He kept telling himself that he should be happy, that it was close enough and it showed how much Dean trusted and cared for him. Dean craved his support and this sort of intimacy, and Castiel was there to provide it.

Castiel was only thankful that the funeral preparations kept him too tired to focus on the situation, and doubly thankful that he had yet to wake up hard and desperate. He knew it’d only ruin things to wake up moaning Dean’s name, and each night he prayed to the gods he’d never believed in that they’d postpone that embarrassment for at least another day.

\- - - -

Bobby’s arrival marked the only time Dean allowed himself to break down in public. He pulled the older man into a hug and sobbed.

“Uncle Bobby,” he whined, a little boy once more as he sought solace in the embrace.

Bobby had never been one for hugs, but he held Dean tight. “I know, boy. I know.”

An image unfolded before Castiel’s eyes. Unbidden, he saw Dean as king with sons and daughters of his own. Children who knew Castiel as their uncle in the same way Sam and Dean did with Bobby. Mini replicas of their father, they’d crawl into Castiel’s lap and beg him to tell them stories. They’d probably be unable to say his name, calling him “Uncle Cassie” or “Uncle Cas.” Beautiful, wonderful children who would forever remind Castiel of what he could never have and should have never dared to covet.

His chest tightened uncomfortably at the idea. It should be an honor to ever be considered such a part of Dean’s family, yet it felt like dying.

He left Bobby and Dean to have their moment, instead leaving to help oversee the arrival of the king’s body.

King John was in a simple coffin, covered in flowers that only marginally covered up the scent of decay. There were herbs and tricks to make a body last until a funeral could take place, but they could only do so much. The weather was on their side, cold and dry, but that didn’t change the fact that the king had died nearly a fortnight ago.

They’d have to move him to something more fitting his rank. Preparations had already been made, it was only a matter of moving him into the great hall. As they transferred the body, Castiel snuck a peek at the man who’d once been his king.

Whatever cocktail of herbs the preservers had used had done their work well, yet he was still unrecognizable. John hadn’t been youthful, but he had never appeared as old and grizzled as he did now. A permanent frown was etched into his features and had a strange sheen to it, looking more like clay than skin. He was well and truly dead. Castiel had known that, of course he had, but somehow _seeing_ it made it so much more real.

It would likely have to be a closed casket service. The people should remember their king as he was, not as a hollow shell. Castiel made a mental note to keep both Dean and later Sam from having to see their father like that. Hopefully Bobby would support him on that decision should it come to it.

The flurry of activity doubled now that the king’s escort had arrived. The council kept pushing Dean to hold the funeral immediately, but he stubbornly dug in his feet.

“Not until Sam gets here.”

Luckily for everyone, Sam arrived soon afterward. His return from the Moorelands added some excitement and welcome cheer to the castle. Young Henry especially, barely a year old, brought smiles to many faces. Dean’s especially; he doted on his nephew and often lamented that he didn’t get to see the boy more.

Good. Dean needed some cheer right now, something to take his mind off his father’s death and his growing worries about becoming king.

Once the initial commotion settled down, Dean lead everyone into the dining chambers for a meal. Though the trip was long, the funeral would need to happen the next day. Sam, Jess, and Henry would need a chance to eat and rest before then.

“How long are you staying?” Dean asked while they waited on the cooks.

“At least until the coronation.” Jess handed a squirming Henry to Dean, who eagerly took his nephew and started bouncing him on his knee. “My mother’s staying at home to manage things while we’re there, so we should be able to stay as long as you need us.”

“I was thinking a few weeks after the coronation,” Sam said. “You’ll want me here as you transition into being king. It’ll show my support and our solidarity as a family. Plus visiting royalty and emissaries will be coming and going… Figured you could use the help.”

“Thank you.” Some of Dean’s weariness showed for a second, but then one of the kitchen servants arrived. She left them a tray of fruits and cheeses to snack on, then left to fetch them some wine and juice for Henry.

As soon as she was gone, though, Sam huffed a laugh. “She’s _so_ your type, I shouldn’t even be _surprised_ she’s the one serving us.”

“Who?” Dean asked between stealing a few raspberries for himself and trying to tempt Henry into eating them. The toddler stubbornly refused, opening his mouth as if to accept the food and then laughing as he turned away at the last second. “You’re just like your old man, you know that? Your daddy used to do that all the time,” Dean teased while tickling him.

Sam shot his brother an unamused look. It was clear he felt Dean was deflecting and equally clear he didn’t care for it. “That kitchen girl? The very pretty one with the dark hair and the blue eyes? The one who eyed you like _you_ were the meal?”

“Oh.” Dean shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, his disbelief clear in his casual dismissal. Dean didn’t bother to correct him.

It was a small mercy that Dean was telling the truth.

His normal means of relaxation was finding a willing partner and fucking them. Castiel had learned the signs, the way Dean would become distant for a few days and disappear at seemingly random times, always returning looking a tad too disheveled. These were very much the circumstances—the stress, the pressure, the gloomy atmosphere—that lead Dean to take men and women to bed.

Throughout it all, though, Castiel had barely left Dean’s side. He was reasonably sure that the only person Dean had taken to bed since John’s death was Castiel himself, and certainly not for the type of release Dean normally craved at times like these.

Not that Sam would believe it and not that Dean would ever admit to it. Though there was something in the way Jess looked at Castiel that made him think that perhaps she _would_.

\- - - -

The funeral was well attended by nobles and peasants alike. They couldn’t all fit inside the great hall, so instead they crowded the castle courtyard and lined the drawbridge. Say would you would about the people, they loved their kings. The whole affair wasn’t opulent and, thankfully, not too dreary; solemn yet dignified. Actually rather fitting to John’s personality, and Castiel said as much to Dean that night.

“Yeah? Good. It’s nice to think he’d approve.”

Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing and rubbing slightly before letting go. “He would.”

Dean’s mood improved after the funeral, possibly because of Sam, Jess, and Henry’s presence. They did wonders, particularly Henry, whose antics delighted Dean while exasperating his parents. Castiel dreaded their inevitable departure. Castiel’s presence could only do so much to soothe Dean’s nerves; Sam would leave with his family, and it would hurt Dean immensely. The loneliness he must face, the burden of kingship, they would weigh him down. Dean was prepared, but the reality of it would be draining.

The coronation was a success. Much like the funeral, it was solemn yet dignified. There were no excessive displays of wealth or grandeur. Even the jewels lining his crown weren’t overdone. It was respectful of Dean’s new title, but didn’t throw it in the faces of the poor who helped support the king through their labor.

Dean kneeled to accept the crown, bowing and accepting the grave responsibility he was undertaking. When the magistrate first declared Dean as King, it was to the thunderous cries of “Long live the King!” As the whole hall broke out in applause, Dean caught Castiel’s eye. There was something in his look, something Castiel hadn’t ever seen before. Before he could even begin to figure it out, though, Dean was ushered into the banquet hall to start the celebration.

Less splendid was the ceremony where Bobby passed on title of High Knight of the King’s Guard to Castiel. In the barracks, with no one but their fellow knights to witness, Bobby handed over the same sword he had received many decades ago when he first took on the position. The sword was old and had weathered many battles (none recently, it was more for display than anything else). Each High Knight’s name was etched into the blade; Castiel’s was now among them.

“I trust you to take care of him,” Bobby said. “I know you’ll do right by the king.”

“By Dean,” Castiel corrected.

Bobby just smiled.

The feasts and celebrations went on for several days.

Sam pushed off leaving as long as he could, but as the seemingly endless parade of foreign kingdoms finally subsided, there was little keeping him there. Like it or not, Sam had responsibilities in the Moorelands. And, despite how much Dean hated it, it was Sam’s home now.

With the carriage already packed and the family lined up ready to go, Sam “Say the word and I’ll stay.”

“Sam…”

“Fine, But if you need me, I’ll come back as soon I get word.”

“No shit. I’m your king, you _have_ to come back if I tell you to.”

“... You really are my king, aren’t you?”

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled his brother in for a hug. Then it was Jess and then Henry. Castiel got his hugs as well, whispering thanks to Jess and Sam in turn for their support.

“You take care of your mommy and daddy, alright?” Dean asked his nephew before handing him back to Jess.

The little boy solemnly nodded. He was far too young to understand what Dean was asking, but he seemed pleased at the attention.

“I’m going to miss them,” Dean mumbled as the carriage disappeared from view. “But don’t let me order them back here, okay?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Dean glared at Castiel. They’d already had this conversation a dozen times. He’d always hated when Cas did that, and Castiel persisted on doing it to annoy Dean. Particularly when Dean needed to get his mind off of something.

“I _order_ you not to call me that again.” Dean smiled smugly, as though he’d won some great battle single handedly.

“But only my liege lord can command of me such a thing,” Castiel pointed out. “So are you my lord or aren’t you?”

“Ugh!” Dean threw up his hands in mock annoyance. “Good riddance to Sam being gone, I don’t think I could handle _both_ of you sassing me.”

Dean’s mood now improved, Castiel counted it as a victory.

\- - - -

That night, he escorted Dean to his room as always. They’d finally settled into an almost regular routine, very much like it had been when Dean had filled in for John while the king traveled. The only difference was that now Dean _had_ to make the decisions and they were all final. He couldn’t waver, couldn’t put it off until his father came back, it was all on him. Dean bore it well, but Castiel was sure it would wear him out if he let it.

His time in Dean’s bed had grown more sporadic as of late. Often Castiel had duties to attend to of his own and had to leave, or Dean stayed up late going over laws and treaties. Their schedules didn’t always mesh, and so Castiel found himself having to reacquaint himself with his own bed. It was lonely, but at least the privacy awarded him time to linger on fantasies he’d otherwise neglected.

It was up to Dean to decide how long he needed Castiel’s presence to help calm his nerves, and Castiel was happy to follow his lead.

As always, Cas made sure Dean was in his room and didn’t need anything, then turned to leave.

“Stay,” Dean said, patting the edge of his bed. The request was familiar at this point, expected even, yet subtly different. Gone was his hesitation, the blushing way he’d avoided talking about this, and in its stead was something… hungry. Predatory. “Help me relax.”

“Okay.” He closed the door behind him. The air was charged with some unspent energy, and Castiel felt he had to carefully navigated as he circled back to Dean. “How can I help?”

Dean kicked off his boots and slowly pulled off his tunic to reveal his back, tan and strong with the muscles moving underneath. He tossed the clothing aside but didn’t reach for his sleep clothes as he usually did. No, he left his skin bare and open for Castiel’s eyes to rack across it.

“Rub my back?” Dean asked.

Castiel swallowed. Oh how he _wanted_ to. He _very_ much wanted to, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. It was such an innocent request. A massage to help his friend relax. He could do that… except he’d have to climb on the bed, go behind him to have the access he needed. He’d have to get in close, work his hands into Dean’s back and _pray_ his body didn’t react inappropriately. If the sight of Dean alone could arouse him, there was no way he’d survive.

If he were smart, he’d politely decline or offer to find a servant up to the task.

He wasn’t smart.

“Okay,” Castiel said. In a daze, he came closer.

“Don’t get dirt on the bed,” Dean warned.

Castiel stopped and obediently took off his boots. Then, because it seemed silly to do this in his armor, he took that off too. With nothing but his pants and loose tunic, he crawled onto the bed behind Dean.

His fingers ghosted over Dean’s back, unsure where to start or even what to do. Temptation won out over uncertainty, and he pressed his thumbs into Dean’s skin right between his shoulder blades and started working them in slow circles. Dean shuddered at the first touch, then groaned and let his head sag forward. Castiel’s cock stirred in interest but he willed himself to ignore Dean’s reaction to the touch.

He’d worked his way up to Dean’s neck when Dean jerked away. Castiel sat there in a daze as Dean fumbled for something in a drawer by the nightstand, then handed a bottle to Cas.

“It’s oil. It’ll help.”

Not trusting his voice, Castiel didn’t answer. He poured a generous amount on his hand and then began anew. Dean was right, the oil helped his fingers glide across Dean’s skin. He worked his way from Dean’s neck down his back, letting Dean’s sighs and moans help him figure out what areas to massage and how much pressure to put. Slowly, Dean’s tension drained away.

At some point (Castiel had no point of reference for how long, as lost as he was in the feel and smell and sight of Dean under his hands), Dean turned around. He grabbed Castiel’s hands to still them, holding them both. Their eyes met and Castiel foolishly thought he saw some of his own longing reflected there. That was impossible, that was—

Dean’s free hand came up to cradle Cas’ cheek. He ran his thumb along his cheekbone again and again. Castiel swallowed hard and licked his lips, surely about to say something, but he lost the words when he saw Dean track the movement from his Adam’s apple up to his lips.

Dean leaned forward but stopped just short of their lips touching. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Cas whispered back, afraid to ruin the moment.

The kiss was _divine_. It was soft and gentle, exploratory, but the single greatest moment of Castiel’s life. As with everything else in their lives, he let Dean set the pace. His mouth mirrored Dean’s, his tongue did the same, and he melted into Dean’s touch.

“Cas…” Dean’s lips brushed against Cas’ as he spoke. “Please… tell me you want this… tell me—”

He answered by surging forward and roughly kissing Dean. His hands came up to tangle in Dean’s hair and he forced their bodies flush together.

Dean put a firm hand on Cas’ chest to push him back. Before Castiel could protest, Dean was pulling at the edges of Castiel’s tunic. He followed the unspoken order and all but tore it off in his haste. Dean greedily took in the sight of more skin, narrowing in on the mark on his shoulder.

The mark of the king. Of _Dean_. A visible sign of his oath to protect Dean at all costs, the red ink a beacon to all who saw it that he’d sworn serve Dean in any way he could. Dean groaned deeply and leaned forward. His forehead rested against the tattoo before he moved to press a gentle kiss there.

The feeling of his king’s lips on his skin sent a full body shiver throughout Castiel.

“Mine,” Dean whispered, his breath a caress. “All mine.”

“Yours,” Castiel agreed. “Always been yours.”

Warm hands guided Castiel onto his back, pulled off his pants and cast them aside. Dean quickly wiggled out of his own pants. Castiel had been half-hard since Dean had taken off his tunic, but now the sight of his king above him had him harder than he could ever remember being. His pre-release glistened in the candlelight and his  

His eyes roamed freely over Castiel, who felt totally exposed. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it had him squirming. What if Dean didn’t like what he saw? What if he realized this was _Castiel_ and not some random servant—

“You’re beautiful,” Dean said as he stroked himself. He looked just as aroused as Castiel felt, and part of him relaxed. At least for now, Dean wanted him. How could he possibly refuse that?

“I’m going to take care of you.” Dean worked his way between Cas’ legs and settled onto his calves. “I promise.”

“Yes. Please.” His voice was hoarse. It should’ve been embarrassing, but Castiel’s world narrowed down to the man above him. There was no room for doubt right now. Right now was about experiencing.

Dean kissed him, resuming the slow and deliberate pace from earlier. Their cocks slid against, almost taunting Cas with the friction he craved but never quite giving it to him. He wanted to thrust up into Dean, force some relief, but Dean kept him firmly in place. The grip on his hip was gentle yet firm; whenever he made an aborted attempt to change positions, Dean’s hold tightened until he relaxed again.

So intent was he on memorizing the taste of Dean and the feel of his dick pressed so close to his own, Castiel was shocked to feel a wet finger trail around his hole.

“Oh!” he gasped.

The finger immediately stopped. “Is that okay—?”

“Yes! Please, I want… I want…”

“Okay, Cas. It’s okay. I’ll give you want you want, don’t worry…”

All those inarticulate fantasies sprung to mind. The ones where somehow, impossibly, Dean was inside him. He’d never spent much time considering how feasible such a thing would be in reality because he’d never expected to be confronted with the reality, but now Dean was using the massage oil to slowly stretch him open.

Dean tried to distract him with kisses or the flick of his thumb across Cas’ nipple, but his entire being was focused on Dean’s fingers. They were intrusive yet welcome, too big yet too small, perfect yet _not enough_.

When Dean slipped a third finger inside and started thrusting in earnest, Castiel arched off the bed and howled.

“Cas…” Dean begged. “You can’t… _fuck_ , you’re gorgeous. You do that too much and I’ll come just from the sight of you.”

“Then come.”

“ _Cas_! At least let me be inside you first.”

He spread his legs wider before hooking his ankles around Dean’s neck. “Then be inside me.”

Wide eyed, Dean nodded. He fumbled with the oil bottle before slicking himself up. An eternity passed as Dean lined himself up and pushed the blunt head of his cock against Castiel’s entrance.

“Can I—?”

Emboldened by Dean’s lust blown pupils, Castiel smiled up at his king. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Fuck me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel only felt the first inch of Dean’s cock as he slowly bottomed out; after that, feeling of fullness and rightness overwhelmed him to the point where he had to bite his lips to ground himself from the onslaught of bliss. Then Dean was inside him, _fully_ inside him, and Castiel almost broke from perfect it was.

“You ready?” Dean rolled his hips experimentally, and Cas gasped. “Good?”

“Amazing.”

Dean did it again, then pulled out a little only to push back in. He kept going, pulling out a little more and thrusting in more roughly. Once Dean had the rhythm he liked, Castiel tried to match it. He met Dean thrust for thrust, clenched around Dean’s cock and devoured Dean’s lips in kisses.

Soon they became frantic as they reached the precipice of release. Castiel could no longer keep up with Dean.

“It’s okay,” Dean purred as a hand came to wrap around Castiel’s neglected dick. “I’ve got you.”

“Dean…”

“You feel so good… You know how long I’ve wanted… _needed_ this?” Dean kept babbling, even as he picked up speed. “You left for over a year, you asshole. Left me alone… had to learn all this without you. Had to invite other people in my bed when all I wanted was _you_ …”

_Wanted you, too. Only ever wanted **you** . It killed me to know you were with others, that you wanted them instead of me. I’m yours, utterly, completely yours... _

Whether he said the words out loud, he didn’t know. Castiel was lost to bliss.

He didn’t know who came first, only that his orgasm ripped through him. He shouted, he cried, he begged for more, and he gasped for air as though drowning; he did all or none of those things, all Castiel knew for certain was it was glorious.

Dean collapsed on him. He whimpered and kept thrusting into him even though he was already spent, his release leaking down Castiel’s thighs.

“So good,” Dean mumbled as he wrapped his arms around Castiel. “So so good.”

Limbs heavy, Castiel managed to get a corner of the blankets around them. Dean lazily kissed and sucked at Cas’ neck where he was stubbornly clinging to. Castiel treasured every caress and fell asleep more content than he could ever remember being.

A worry niggled at the back of Castiel’s mind as he lost consciousness: How long could this possibly last and how would his heart ever recover when it ended?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably could've spent a lot more time describing the funeral and coronation but oh well...


	8. Trouble in Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did anybody ask for vaguely mentioned sex? because i don't think there's anything particularly explicit in this chapter, but there's definitely a bunch of sex going on.
> 
> also warning that there's some dub!con-y dean/other going on in this chapter. nothing more than kissing happens, but there's some definite dub!con in there.
> 
> come visit me on tumblr at [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com). even though i only update this story biweekly (ish) and haven't been posting a lot to ao3 lately, i post new ficlets there pretty regularly.

Cas woke up from a pleasant dream with his cock in Dean’s mouth and a finger in his ass. Forget his dreams, reality was far better.

He carded his fingers through Dean’s hair and held him steady. His body sought its release in Dean’s mouth and he wasn’t awake enough to be more gentle. Dean didn’t seem to mind, though, if the needy whimpers he made were any indication.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by a hesitant call of, “Your majesty?”

Dean growled and popped off Cas’ dick. The finger in Cas’ ass disappeared, leaving him bereft and empty. Dean’s hand replaced his mouth as he snapped, “What?”

"Sorry for disturbing you, but there's a council meeting soon. We couldn't find Castiel—"

"He's with me.”

There was a long pause filled only with the sound of Castiel’s harsh breathing and Dean stroking his cock.

"Well, the meeting is in a few minutes, my lord..."

Dean groaned and rested his head against Cas' stomach, his fingers tracing circles on Cas' thigh. "i just want to suck my best friend's cock," he grumbled before kissing Cas' navel. "Is that really so much to ask?"

"Then do it," Castiel grunted in annoyance. He wanted the divine heat of Dean's lips back on him. "Aren't you the king?"

Dean laughed and kissed him again, this time on his hip bones. “That I am.” A mischievous glint in his eyes, he turned around to face the door. “Fuck off!” he yelled. “We’re busy. Cancel my meetings for the day—No, the next _two_ days and have breakfast sent up.”

“... Yes, my lord.”

They listened to the sound of retreating steps and then Dean giggled.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Dean said as he kissed his way back down to Cas’ cock. “You’re such a bad influence…”

Castiel didn’t care. He really _really_ didn’t care.

“Put your finger back inside of me and finish what you started,” Cas growled. He lifted his hips and glared down at Dean.

“Hey, I thought _I_ was the king? How come you’re ordering me around?”

“Because you like it.” Strictly speaking, Castiel didn’t know if that was true, but he had a hunch. “So do as you’re told and put your mouth back on me, your fingers back in me, and finish what you started.”

Dean visibly shivered. When he next spoke, his voice was pitched lower than usual. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

\- - - -

They spent the next two days worshipping each other’s bodies. Or at least Castiel worshipped Dean’s, memorizing every inch of it and paying every freckle its due. How Dean viewed it, Castiel couldn’t begin to guess.

Dean was utterly insatiable, fucking Cas every chance they got (it was probably good that Dean cancelled his meetings beforehand) and Castiel was more than happy to oblige him. Each time, they tried something new: different positions, different places in the bedroom, different ways to use their fingers and mouths… Castiel couldn’t decide which he liked best—how could someone pick between such wonderful forms of pleasure?—so he allowed Dean to lead. Whatever fantasies Dean had in mind, Castiel was willing to explore them.

He suspected Dean would work this sudden fling out of his system sooner rather than later, and he was determined to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Cas asked after he collapsed face down onto the bed. Dean’s tongue had brought him to the brink of ecstasy again and again. Even in his wildest dreams, he’d _never_ imagined Dean’s tongue spearing into his loose hole.

Gentle fingers kneaded into his skin before pulling the blankets around them both. “You really wanna know the answer to that?”

“Hmmm?” He’d forgotten his question, and now he had the chance to find out the answer, he wasn’t so sure. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded. “Yes. I think I would.”

He opened an eye and peeked over the edge of the pillow to look at Dean; his eyebrow was raised as he looked down at Cas skeptically.

“Well, uh… Me and Benny, we spent a lot of time together back when you were up north. Spent a few weeks with his family. Mostly with him. He taught me a lot of things. Been puttin’ them to good use too.” Dean tried to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, but it ended up as a frown. “He didn’t mean anything, though. We were just friends. Don’t get me wrong, Benny’s a great guy, but it was never… it wasn’t _romantic_.”

It sounded like a warning: don’t mistake what we’re doing as anything other than friends fucking. Not that Castiel was surprised. He’d assumed that was the case from the moment Dean kissed him. Nevertheless, the reinforcement stung.

Desperate to move the focus away from himself, Cas smiled coyly. “Could you teach me?”

Dean snorted. “What you think I’ve been doing the last couple days?”

“You’ve been _showing_ me things.” Castiel pushed himself up on his elbows. “You’ve been doing things _to_ me. When do I get to learn how to do things to _you_?”

“You wanna…” Dean swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing obscenely. “What would you like to learn?”

Castiel’s eyes raked over Dean’s body until they landed on his cock, hard and leaking so much there was a stain on the blanket.

“Can you teach me how to use my mouth on your cock?”

Any semblance of control Dean had disappeared. “Fuck, _yes_. C’mere…”

Castiel had always been a quick study, especially when properly motivated. He was _definitely_ motivated...

\- - - -

Things calmed down a little when Dean grudgingly put his clothes back on and went back to his kingly duties. Dean lamented repeatedly that he’d like nothing more than to stay in bed for another week with Castiel, but it wouldn’t do to neglect his role as king so early on.

“Of course, Dean. I understand.” He tried not to sound too bitter about it.

Two days with Dean. That was two more than he’d ever thought he’d get, so Castiel willed himself not to be disappointed.

How _dare_ he be disappointed? He’d slept in the arms of the man he loved, had sex with him, gotten to stare adoringly into his eyes…

It would have to be enough.

They bathed, washing away all traces of their affair, and got dressed. Dean looked fittingly regal in his velvet cloak and gilded belt. Castiel looked appropriately lowborn in his leather armor.

“Hey.” Dean stopped them before opening the door. He pulled Cas in for a tender kiss. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Or at least he would be. “We should go. You have a kingdom to run.”

They lingered a moment longer before, with a smile and a nod, Dean lead the way.

Luckily, the kingdom hadn’t come to ruin in the past few days, but there were numerous issues for Dean to address. The council had done a good job fielding the more urgent requests for funds and assistance, and Dean focused on seeing those were properly handled before he dealt with the other petitions that were waiting for his attention.

Now that they were in public again with eyes on them, Dean was his old self. He kept his hands to himself and barely addressed Castiel during the dozen meetings he had to go through. That was by no means unusual—as a guard, even the _king’s_ guard, he was there to shadow and protect Dean, not to speak—but it still stung.  

Every moment he remained in the background as though forgotten hurt more than any blow he’d been dealt.

It made Castiel hyperaware of everything Dean said or did. Every smile or frown, the way his tone dipped down in warning or lightened to tell a joke. Over the course of the day, Castiel noticed Dean’s gaze turned his way more often than he would’ve thought. While Dean was sparing with his touches, he practically lavished Castiel with longing looks. The disconnect confused him, but in the end it couldn’t convince Castiel of anything other than the truth: that things between them were over.

The thought was so firmly rooted in Castiel’s mind that it soured his mood for the rest of the day. Dean looked at Castiel not because he _wanted_ Castiel; he was concerned, and rightly so, that Castiel was having issues readjusting to the way things used to be. He did his best to show Dean he would regain that equilibrium with time. No matter how much he wished to, Castiel made sure to be as impassive as possible whenever he caught Dean’s eye, and he kept a measured distance when they walked.

It was exhausting, to be so careful of himself.

Unable to bear it any longer, he slipped away early at dinner. The other knights nodded and took over for him, but it didn’t make Castiel feel any better about abandoning his post. Berating himself the whole way, Castiel went to his own room. At least this way he could save himself from the awkward conversation where Dean told him it was over.

With his mind spiraling out of control, Cas happily gave in to the nothingness of sleep.

Something startled him awake hours later. Confused, he took in the darkness still encompassing his room. The window was open and there were faint sounds of movement as the guards went on their rounds below; there was the flicker of light from the hallway casting shadows around the cracks of his door; and there was an arm draped around him, holding him in place.

“Dean?” he gasped in surprise. Dean was sleeping in his bed. _His_ bed!

“Mmmm?” Dean rolled onto his back and pulled Cas with him. “Why you wake me up?” he asked grumpily before mouthing at Castiel’s neck. “Tired…”

“I just… _oh!_ ”

Dean’s half-hard cock pressed into his thigh, rapidly growing harder, and Castiel realized he might have to reconsider his assessment of the situation. Giving in, Castiel lazily kissed Dean until they were desperately rutting against each other. They wiggled out of their pants so Dean could get a hand around them, and the last thing Castiel remembered before falling asleep was Dean licking their combined come off his belly.

The servants had a near heart attack the next morning when they couldn’t find Dean in his room. Bobby was the one who found them, and only because he was rushing to get Castiel.

“The king’s missing!” Bobby shouted as he slammed the door open.

Dean nearly fell off the bed in surprise when the door was thrown open and Castiel was instantly diving for the blade he kept on the bedside table. For a moment, the three of them were frozen, looking at each other wide-eyed as they slowly pieced together what had happened.

Bobby was the first to move, rolling his eyes and huffing in annoyance. “Next time, could ‘ya keep it in Dean’s room? Nearly gave me a heart attack, you idgits.” Then the surly knight turned on his heel and left them to get dressed in peace.

“Sorry!” Dean called after, but he was fighting a fit of laughter. “I think we just scandalized my uncle.”

“At least we have our clothes on.” Castiel looked down and saw that his breeches were still undone from their activities the previous night. Embarrassed, he realized Bobby could’ve easily gotten an eyeful. “Well, we have our clothes _mostly_ on,” he amended.

Dean pressed in close and whispered in Cas’ ear, “You know, I could issue a royal decree. ‘The High Knight of the King’s Guard is required to sleep naked at all times.’ Would definitely make people think twice before bursting into your room in the morning.”

“You could,” Castiel agreed, goosebumps rising along his arms and his voice shaky. “But who would be there to check to make sure I follow that decree?”

Now Dean’s hand wandered to fully push Cas’ pants out of the way. Neither was surprised to find him hard and leaking.

“Hmmm… I suppose _I_ could volunteer to check… It seems only fair, given that it was _my_ decree...”

They ended up missing breakfast that morning.

That day was a repeat of the day before, Castiel’s nerves stretched thin as he wondered if _today_ was the day Dean ended things. But this time Dean snuck out of dinner with him. Hand in hand, they went to Dean’s room.

“Wouldn’t wanna worry Bobby with me wandering off to find you again,” Dean explained as he closed the door behind them. Castiel didn’t object.

That became their routine. During the day, Dean resolutely acted as he always had around Castiel. They were childhood friends, they were king and loyal knight, they were everything they had always been. Until they were safely behind closed doors; then they were lovers. Every night, Castiel found himself in Dean’s bed. Usually they had sex, but not always. Some nights it was simply them cuddling under Dean’s blankets until they fell asleep. Some nights it was them talking until exhaustion overtook them, as they had when they were boys.

It was nice. It was _beyond_ nice, it was perfect.

But a pit of worry settled in Castiel’s stomach. He settled into it, but at the same time dreaded losing it. The longer it went on, the more he wondered how he’d survive life after knowing Dean’s touch so intimately. It was part of why he never talked about their relationship with Dean. He was too afraid that asking questions or putting a name to what they did would just bring about its end that much sooner.

The only truly bright spot in all of this was Dean. He seemed happier than Castiel could ever remember seeing him. He whistled and hummed to himself when he thought no one was looking, there was almost always a smile on his face, and he joked around a lot more than usual. Dean’s happiness had always brought Castiel joy, and it pleased him even more to think that maybe _he_ had something to do with it.

And then the rumors started.

Castiel had expected there to be talk of him and Dean. Looking back, reanalyzing conversations he’d overheard and pointed looks he’d been given, he thought there might have _already_ been such talk, no matter how unfounded. Now, though, he assumed ti would run rampant.

Instead the rumors are of a completely different nature.

Within the castle walls, it was obvious with whom Dean spent his nights. Plenty of the servants had seen them in Dean’s chambers or brought them breakfast in bed, so there was no doubt amongst the staff. Somehow the specifics were lost in the re-tellings.

When Castiel was out in the city surrounding the castle, he heard a woman telling a baker all about the King’s voracious sexual appetites. Castiel blushed, was about to seek cover so that no one could see him eavesdropping or make them uncomfortable to be caught gossiping about _him_ , but then the woman’s next words nearly made him trip over his own feet.

“He beds a new woman every night. Dotes upon them for sure, but grows tired of them and finds another. I swear, it’s true! My cousin’s husband’s little brother works in the castle gardens. It’s a well known fact in the castle! The king falls easily in love, and just as fast as that falls back out of it.”

As soon as Castiel regained use of his feet, he rushed back to his horse and left for the castle, his errands forgotten.

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care about the rumors. They were at best a caricature of who Dean really was. Castiel had spent enough time with Dean to know that even when he was sleeping with various servants, it didn’t happen as often as the woman had claimed. Now of course it wasn’t even close to true; _he_ was the only one spending nights in the king’s bed.

Nevertheless, they were extremely _persistent_ rumors. Once Castiel became aware of them, he encountered them everywhere. Inside the castle walls, they were fodder for laughter. Outside the walls, they were deemed the absolute truth. Both reactions played to Castiel’s insecurities, and he found he hated that Dean’s love life should be a topic of discussion for anyone save himself and Dean.

The worst part, though, was that the rumors traveled farther than the city or the surrounding villages. Word spread of the king’s love for beautiful to other kingdoms, kingdoms with eligible daughters they used to tempt Dean into a marriage alliance. Royal embassies visited without end, each offering Dean his pick of their princesses and noblewomen.

Dean smiled and politely declined each of them. There was nothing like the profound relief Castiel felt when each visiting party left without a marriage contract in hand.

Those were the few times when Castiel would actually approach Dean. As his sovereign lord, Castiel always let Dean take the lead; if Dean wanted to have sex, they had sex, and if he wanted something else, they did that instead. But the nights when the castle was once again empty of foreign guests, Castiel would greedily take all that Dean was willing to give him.

Countless women came and went, all perfectly good matches that would provide Winchester with a strong ally and Dean with the prospect of heirs. Only one of them came close to winning Dean over.

A squire announced the arrival of Queen Amara of Umbra. Dean rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Not _another_ one.” Then he forced his face into a mask of friendly neutrality before gesturing for the queen to be let it.

Castiel knew little about Umbra. It was far away ( _extremely_ far away, so far that it had been rumored to be a myth until but a hundred years ago) but prosperous. The royal line claimed to be descended from sirens, the mythical creatures emblazoned on their crest. It was nonsense to be sure, but it was at least interesting nonsense.

The queen was preceded by a number of attendants, all of them pretty young women with flowing dresses and fine jewelry that sparkled when it caught the light. Then came Amera herself, all the more beautiful for being outshining her lovely attendants.

As she approached the throne, Dean stood to greet her. He was starting to bow when she reached him. Hands on either side of his face, she pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss. At first Dean was stiff and unresponsive, almost squirming out of her grasp, but then he melted into it. Castiel watched numbly as Dean’s lips moved against Amara’s, as she pulled away and he chased after her. She patted his cheek and smiled indulgently before stepping back and giving a small curtsy.

The second her hands were off him, Dean stumbled and nearly fell backwards onto his throne. He touched his lips and looked at Amara in confusion. His eyes darted to Castiel, a look of panic in his eyes before he caught himself and forced out a stiff greeting. All throughout the brief audience, Dean’s body language screamed his discomfort.

Amara, though, seemed not to notice. She smiled and looked at Dean with a hunger in her eyes that made the king fidget. Everything about her was salacious; her low cut dress, the exaggerated sway of her hips as she walked, the way her eyes tracked Dean’s every move. Castiel hated all of it, and her most of all.

He watched her and Dean’s interactions, looking for some sign that he’d imagined Dean enthusiastically returning her kiss. Sometimes he was cold and distant to Amara, even snapping at her once over dinner and then sheepishly apologizing. But then there were times she’d lean in close, cover his hand in her own and Dean would wink flirtatiously and lean in close to whisper in her ear.

Castiel convinced himself he wasn’t upset. This was always the way things would go. His and Dean’s brief physical relationship was doomed to be as ephemeral as it was magnificent. Doomed before it even got the chance to start.

That night, he escorted Dean to his room.

“Hey,” Dean said, reaching for Cas’ shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“I was going to sleep in my room,” Castiel said slowly. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Dean wasn’t going to make Castiel _say_ it, was he?

Dean looked equally confused. “But Bobby said we should stay in my room.”

“... You want me to stay?”

“I mean, I don’t _mind_ sleeping in your room, but my bed’s bigger…”

Emboldened more than he’d ever been, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and kissed him. Dean’s hands circled around his waist and he sighed into the kiss. That was too tender, too gentle for what Castiel needed right now. He wanted to remind himself and Dean of what they had, especially if Amara was about to take it away.

Pulling Dean toward the bed, Castiel growled, “Use me, Dean. Show me I’m yours.”

Dean groaned, his grip tightening. “Cas… fuck, you can’t just _say_ things like that… You know what you do to me?”

“Show me.”

Neither got much sleep that night.

The next day, Dean obviously avoided spending time with Amara or any member of her party. He ate breakfast in his room with Castiel, lunch in the council chambers between meetings, and stayed out of the gardens and public spaces as much as possible. Dinner was the only concession he made to decorum, sitting next to the visiting queen and entertaining her.

His discomfort melted the more she leaned into his personal space, and at the end of the night he offered to walk her to her room. Castiel’s heart lurched painfully, a terrible fear that Dean would join the queen in her bedchambers making him feel downright ill, but all that happened was a goodnight kiss.

_He spends his nights with me but kisses another. Is this to be my future?_

The thought drove him crazy as he followed Dean back to his room. Castiel knew he should serve his king however he could, but the idea of losing this thing they shared, the one thing he’d always wanted, it brought out the worst in him.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Dean rubbed at his temples, obviously in pain. “Fuck, I’ve got such a headache. I feel _awful_.”

Giving in to Dean’s distress, Castiel stayed that night. He curled around Dean as he whimpered in pain and begged for Castiel to massage his head.

Dean claimed to feel fine the next morning, though the dark circles around his eyes suggested otherwise. Castiel was in no position to argue, so he merely resigned himself to shadowing Dean and insisting that he stop to rest if the pain got the better of him. Dean’s head troubled him most of the morning, but all symptoms of it left him the moment Amara stepped into the dining hall for lunch. They continued their easy flirting from the day before (though again, Dean would sometimes jerk away from her or growl out a flippant remark). By the end of the meal, she was practically sitting in his lap.

“How long does the queen plan on staying?” he asked Bobby. The two were standing guard at the entrance to the dining hall, watching the ridiculous display

“Not soon enough,” Bobby grunted. “Don’t like her. Gives me the heebie jeebies. This ain’t like Dean at all.”

Castiel was inclined to agree, though he was perfectly aware that his own bias might be coloring his view of things.

Once again, Dean had a crippling headache that night when he went to bed. He whined pitifully as Castiel tried to soothe him with gentle touches and whispered endearments.

The next day, instead of avoiding Amara as much as possible, Dean immediately sought her out. Her presence seemed to ease his pain, and he followed her like a lovesick puppy. Amara smiled approvingly and encouraged his attention. When he escorted her to her room that night, she invited him inside. He stepped forward as if to enter, but then he flinched and backed away. Amara seemed disappointed but unsurprised, and bid him goodnight before disappearing.

Dean howled in pain that night. He babbled feverishly as he held his hands on his head and wept in pain. It was so bad that Castiel was beside himself with worry. As discreetly as he could, he summoned Bobby who in turn summoned a healer.

The healer gave Dean an herbal remedy to help him sleep, then stepped into the hallway to speak with the two knights.

“He seems to be going through withdrawal from some sort of drug,” the healer said in a hushed tone. “Yet I never took the king for the type of man who indulged in such things.”

“He isn’t,” Bobby said simply.

“What do you recommend?” Castiel asked. He kept most of his attention on the door, listening for any sign that Dean might need him.

“Rest. Water and tea. Isolation so that he can work through the ordeal without causing alarm or suspicion. Do not let him be seen like this. The symptoms are mild now, but if they got worse, everyone would know the cause.”

“ _We_ don’t even know the cause,” Bobby snapped. “I’m tellin’ you, the boy doesn’t indulge in anything stronger than whiskey, and he drinks moderately at best.”

The healer shrugged helplessly. “Be that as it may, people will talk. Keep him here until he’s feeling better. I will check on him tomorrow to see how his progress is going. Someone should be with him at all times, in case he gets worse.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Castiel said once the healer had left.

“What a surprise. As though you weren’t already with him all the time.” Although Bobby’s gruffness spoke to annoyance, there was an underlying affection there as well. “Tell me if it gets worse. Don’t let anyone in that’s not me or the healer. I suspect he’ll have a visitor tomorrow…”

“Who?”

“Just… don’t let anyone in, okay?”

While Dean slept, there was a frown etched in his forehead and he griped the blankets tightly. He relaxed slightly when Castiel joined him in bed, but other than that he didn’t stir. That afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Dean gasped awake, throwing himself around Castiel as the knight tried to crawl out of bed.

“Don’t let her near me,” Dean whispered. “I can’t… I can’t _take it anymore_! Please, Cas…”

“Shhh, it’s alright. You’re still dreaming.” Castiel tucked Dean back under the covers before putting on a jacket and his sword before going to address their visitor.

“Castiel.”

He stiffened when he recognized Amara’s voice. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, standing in the way of her attempts to see into the room.

“Queen Amara. How can I be of service?”

“I’ve been asked to leave by one of your knights. The older, ill-natured one. It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome here.” She smiled, pausing to let Castiel politely tell her she was mistaken. Castiel did not, and her expression became pinched. “I was hoping that I might see the king one last time before I left—”

“That’s not possible. The king has taken ill and isn’t taking any visitors at the moment.”

She made a point of looking Castiel up and down before saying, “What about you? It appears he’s seeing at least _one_ visitor, perhaps another exception could be made—?”

“No,” Castiel said firmly. He remembered Dean’s pleas, the manic look in his eye as he asked Castiel to keep her away.

“I’m sure if you just asked him—”

“I said _no_.” This time, Castiel’s hand went to his sword.

Amara tracked the movement and the fake smile she’d been wearing finally faded. “Oh. I didn’t realize the king was… taken. The rumors suggested the king was unattached and looking for a queen. I was merely trying to help.”

“Well, he _isn’t_ unattached, he _isn’t_ looking for a queen, and whatever you’ve done to him, it _hasn’t_ helped. Leave, before I make you leave.”

She raised her arms in surrender and started to retreat down the hallway. “Please give the king my apologies.”

Castiel watched until he was sure Amara was gone, then went back into the room and bolted the door shut behind him. From Dean’s window, he saw Amara’s carriages leave not an hour later. The farther away she drove, the more relaxed Dean seemed. By nightfall he seemed almost himself again.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said as Castiel handed him a bowl of soup. The healer was impressed with his recovery, but insisted Dean rest at least another day to make sure he didn’t relapse. That meant a quiet dinner with just the two of them. Neither complained. “I don’t really remember what happened, but I feel like I owe you an apology. I’m not sure what for, but… but I feel like I do. I haven’t been myself the past few days, and I’m sorry—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

_Not only weren’t you in your right mind, but we’re nothing more than friends who occasionally fuck. If you kiss another, you have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault my feelings are too caught up in all this._

_It’s not your fault I love you._

“Okay, well, I’m sorry anyway.” They ate in silence for a while longer until Dean quietly added, “I’m really lucky to have you. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Stunned, Castiel answered more truthfully than he might have otherwise. “I’ll always take care of you, Dean. In any way as I can for as long as I can.”

“You’re just sayin’ that because you’re my bodyguard,” Dean muttered. The candlelight made Dean’s blush adorably obvious.

“Well, now that you mention it, that’s probably a large part of it—”

“You ass!” Dean shouted through laughter. “Way to ruin a perfectly good moment.”

Mood effectively lightened, they enjoyed the rest of their meal without them broaching the topic of their feelings again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, this amara stuff was completely unplanned


	9. When a Good Man Goes to War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter didn’t get through all the northern stuff i wanted to deal with, but oh well lol. ~~didn’t get to the sexy times either but that just means you guys get that next chapter…~~
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>  
> 
> so maybe a new chapter of this next week? depends on how my dcbb goes. look out for my destiel harlequin challenge fic which will be posting tomorrow :) it’s a viking!au with viking!dean and twink!cas and lots of sex and angst. hope you guys like it :)
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> and of course, please stop by tumblr to talk to me @jhoomwrites. my inbox is always open and i post new ficlets almost daily!
> 
> oh please note this chapter gets a little violent at the end...

****If Castiel could describe life with Dean as king, he’d say it was surprisingly like it’d been before. There was no John, so everything fell on Dean, but Dean bore the burden of kingship wonderfully. Castiel spent his nights in Dean’s bed, but that was a temporary thing that would end sooner than later. Everything else, though, was shockingly familiar.

Castiel was not at all surprised that the beginning of Dean’s reign was a success. He was popular with the nobles, beloved by the people, and there were no real challenges before him. The country was stable and their alliances secure. The only change Dean made was to increase the army presence along the entirety of the northern border.

Not surprising, given that John had died at that very border.

It was a very popular decision; John had been popular among the people, and a king’s death was never looked upon kindly. Combine that with the general knowledge that the northern tribes attacked the border regularly, and there was not a single person opposed to Dean’s edict.

Well, except one.

“Seems kinda foolish, if you ask me,” Bobby said right as Dean was about to sign the order into law.

Dean put the quill down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why? And why haven’t you brought this up before now?”

“I’d’ve brought it up if you’d actually _asked_ for opinions, but you came into the council and said you were doin’ it and didn’t really care what we thought.” The rest of the council nervously avoided eye contact with Dean, knowing full well Bobby was right. “And it’s foolish because you don’t just increase your armed forces along a border. You add more troops, _they_ add more troops, then _you_ have to add more to deal with _their_ new troops. It escalates pretty quickly from there.”

“You say that as though they’re an organized nation, which they _aren’t_ . They’re barbarians with no central government; who’s going to _order_ them to increase their attacks?”

Bobby shrugged and kept quiet. Dean dipped the quill back in the ink and was about to sign his name, when he paused. His hand hesitated, a drop of black spilled onto the parchment, and Dean growled in frustration as he put the quill down yet again.

“And what, pray tell, should I be doing instead?”

“Well,” Bobby drawled, “seems to me the way you end a conflict is to find out _why_ there’s one in the first place. The fighting’s just the symptom of the problem. You gotta get to the root cause and address that, or else you’ll never get things set right.”

“That’s simple enough,” Castiel interrupted. Half the council members jerked in surprise to hear Castiel speak, especially without having been addressed by name, but he ignored them. “Everyone knows that the northerners attack because—”

Dean held up a hand and Castiel immediately fell silent. He was blushing, though Castiel couldn’t see why. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not capitulating to the demands of tribesman. They attack us, and we have the means to repel those attacks. I’m signing the order, end of discussion.”

And with that, he took the quill and signed his name with a flick of his wrist. As soon as his seal had been pressed into the hot ink on the page, he handed it off to a messenger who would go alert the generals to start redistributing soldiers.

Bobby and Castiel shared a look, eyebrows raised. Castiel had no idea what to make of what had just happened, and it appeared Bobby didn’t either.

“Anything else?” Dean asked, voice gruffer than usual.

“Just one last thing,” Bobby said. “Queen Amara—” Dean visibly tensed. “—sent a letter of apology as well as gifts of chocolates and flowers. What should we do with—?”

“Burn them,” Dean cut in. “Don’t open them, just burn them. The letter too. And anything else that comes from her. You have my permission to read any future letters from her, in case they actually pertain to Winchester’s _political_ concerns, but burn them.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped at the vehemence with which Dean spoke. Bobby seemed almost as shocked, though he did a better job of hiding it.

“Yeah, sure thing.” Bobby bowed and then exited, followed by the other council members one by one.

“Ugh.” Dean slumped into his chair as soon as the last of them had left. “I thought I was _done_ dealing with Amara. I swear, we might have an actual war on our hands if she ever tries to visit again because she is _not_ welcome here. Just thinking about her gives me a headache…”

Moving to sit on the edge of the large table covered in notes about policy and maps of the northern expanse, Castiel motioned for Dean to lean towards him. As soon as Dean did, he massaged Dean’s temples.

“She did seem apologetic, at the end,” Cas said as his fingers made their way to Dean’s neck. Dean practically melted into the touch.

“Don’t care,” Dean mumbled. “Don’t like her.”

They’d never truly figured out what had happened, but it seemed safe to assume she’d done _something_ to Dean. His dislike was more than justified, and selfish though it might be, Cas was pleased Dean didn’t harbor any lingering affection for Amara.

“I can see that.” Castiel pulled his hands away and Dean whined softly. “Why did you commit to the troops? Bobby brought up an excellent point and it was worth further consideration. You were even thinking about reconsidering it, I know you were, but as soon as I offered my opinion, you dug in your heels. Why?”

Dean was quiet. He wouldn’t meet Castiels’ eye, instead focusing on the wood stains on the table.

“Sorry…” Dean swallowed. “This might sound silly, but I’m trying to uh… to make sure no one thinks I favor you too much.”

Castiel started slightly. “You’re worried about how I affect your public image?”

“A little? It’s obvious I spend more time with you than anyone else, which is fine. I’m allowed to have friends and it’s not like I’m going to stop being with you.” Dean rolled his eyes as though the suggestion were ludicrous. “But I need people to think I can stand on my own as king, especially now when I’ve only just started. I have to keep my personal life and my rule two distinct things that don’t overlap, otherwise no one’s going to respect my decisions.”

His heart thundered in his chest. Dean was ashamed of him. Dean didn’t want to be publicly tied to him.

“I see,” Castiel said, voice dead.

“I mean, at least until I’m married, I have to appear unaffected by that sort of thing. After that, you can speak up all you want in council meetings.” Dean winked at him, then frowned as if he’d realized what he’d just said and wished he could take it back.

Did Dean have marriage on his mind and didn’t want to let Cas know that their relationship was already close to an end?

He did his best not to appear affected. Castiel had known all along that his affair with Dean would be short lived. What they’d already had, it was more than he’d ever hoped for. A marriage was always going to be the end of their affair, so what did it matter if it was sooner rather than later?

“Cas, you okay?”

Worried green eyes found his and Castle shook his head to dismiss his sullen thoughts. “I’m fine.”

Dean didn’t seem to believe him. “If you say so… Hey, let’s go get lunch. I’m starving.”

“Yes, Dean.”

\- - - -

A month passed, then two, then three. Time kept moving on, and though Castiel wanted to relax into the relationship he had with Dean, he couldn’t. There was always a voice in the back of his head whispering that today would be the last day, and if not today, tomorrow. His fear was so crippling that he knew _exactly_ how many nights he’d spent in Dean’s bed (one hundred and sixteen so far).

It also meant he had a good idea of how long it’d been since Dean had signed that order for more troops.

Five and a half months later, Bobby marched into Dean’s private office (and managed to look completely unfazed when he found Castiel on Dean’s lap). After loudly clearing his throat to announce his presence, he handed over a message. Castiel’s position made it too difficult for him to read the message with Dean, so he watched as Dean’s eyes moved along the page and his lips moved to silently read the words.

“I hate to say I told you so, but…” Bobby trailed off.

“Ugh, no you don’t,” Dean groaned as he handed the parchment to Castiel. “Go ahead and say it, get it out of your system.”

“Well, if you insist. I told you the extra troops would backfire, and here I am, completely right. As usual.”

Castiel scanned the letter. Dean’s increased military presence had the unforeseen side effect of rallying the northern tribes. They’d seen an increased, united military presence and they’d decided to answer in turn. They were rallying behind Lucifer, one of the clan leaders, and had been attacking en masse for the past week. Their efforts were coordinated and spoke to extensive surveillance of the army’s movement and patrols.

The generals had of course been fighting back, expecting the usual skirmishes that had plagued the north for decades. But instead of the small groups of no more than fifty or a hundred they were used to facing, there was now an army of thousands.

“I suppose you’ll have to call an emergency council meeting to deal with this,” Castiel said.

Dean pouted. “Could we at least finish—”

“AHEM!” Bobby looked a little redder than usual. “It’s bad enough I gotta walk in on the two of you, you really gotta talk about it in front of me, too?”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean sighed and finally guided Castiel off of his lap. “Let’s get this meeting over with.”

Once all the council members had been convened, Dean explained the situation and solemnly accepted the responsibility.

“It’s with a heavy heart that I give you this news. I’m the one who issued the order, and unfortunately that has directly lead to the loss of lives of my people. Other suggestions were made, and I ignored them, and I take full responsibility for not having more thoroughly explored my options. So let’s talk. How should I handle this? I want everyone’s opinion.”

They argued back and forth for hours. Marv and some of the others suggested restraint, that they should give in to the northerner’s demands and stop all bloodshed (though it bordered on cowardice, in Castiel’s opinion, to capitulate so readily; it would not bode well for the rest of Dean’s reign). Frank amended their plan of retreat and suggested waiting things out, holding firm and seeing what would happen.

Bobby and Castiel, the only two knights on the council and the only two who’d actually _met_ northern tribesmen, spoke last.

“Nothing to say?” Dean asked them directly when they didn’t volunteer any suggestions. “As I recall, you two were the ones who spoke up last time.”

“And you ignored us,” Bobby pointed out.

“And I apologized. I’m asking now, and I want to hear from both of you. I’ll make my own decision, but I need to hear what you think.”

“Well, you’ve already kicked the hornet’s nest. You can run and hide like Marv wants you to, but that won’t change the fact that you got an angry mess of hornets. You can sit on your ass like Frank wants you to, but they’ll just keep stingin’ you ‘til you get off your ass and do something to stop ‘em. You’re going to have to get rid of the damn hornet’s nest at this point.”

“So you’re suggesting…?”

Bobby shrugged. “You gotta fight ‘em. Break up this army they’ve made and deal with whoever’s left afterward. Maybe integrate them into the kingdom? Resettle them south of the border where you can keep an eye on them?”

Dean ran his hands over his chin, brushing at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave away that morning. “Cas? Thoughts?”

Castiel hesitated a moment, not wanting to speak up and do anything to damage Dean’s ‘public image’ as he put it.

Dean leaned towards him and whispered, “Hey, c’mon. Just pretend it’s you and me. Forget these guys.” He gave a wink and added more loudly, “You said you knew what the northerners want. So… what _do_ they want?”

Focusing on Dean’s encouraging smile and ignoring his nerves, he answered. “The northerners only want access to what we have in Winchester, and the more they see that getting closed off, the more they fight for it. They’re in the unfortunate position where they think they can get all the benefits of citizenship but don’t want to bend the knee and call you their king. They want to ‘have their cake and eat it too.’”

Dean snorted at Castiel’s use of air quotes but otherwise didn’t

“So what does that mean in this situation?”

“They’re fighting for what they had before the military presence. Ideally, they probably want more access than they had. Fewer tariffs. Better roads in and out of Winchester. More relaxed searches when they enter towns.” He could see a few council members getting disgruntled at the list, and he quickly added, “I’m not suggesting you give those things to them; I’m merely telling you what they want.”

“And how would I go _back_ to how things were before? Would decreasing our military presence achieve that?”

“No, Bobby’s right, it’s too late for that. The clans don’t particularly like each other. If they’ve organized enough to be a united front against you, they won’t break up so easily. You’ll have to get them to disband, and the only way to do that is to fight them. Though I wouldn’t recommend trying to resettled them inside of Winchester. They like our goods and our gold, but they don’t like our customs. It would only cause more issues later on.”

Steepling his fingers together, Dean leaned back in his chair. “Basically we attack them with the full force of our army and disband them? That’s it?”

“They want your respect. Treat them the way you’d treat other nations. Go speak with their leader to negotiate—though I guarantee you that won’t work, but do it anyway, whoever survives will appreciate the gesture—and then attack. They’re good fighters and will do a lot of damage with those kinds of numbers, but you have more men who are better equipped and better trained for this type of combat. You’ll win, and then you can offer whatever terms you want to those who are left. They’ll take them, and if you’re generous it would go a long way in easing some of the grudges they hold against Winchester.”

Dean nodded along. “Anyone have any objections to what Castiel’s suggesting?” No one spoke up. Even Bobby seemed to approve. “Alright, that’s what we’re doing. All troops within the borders of Winchester and not critical to border defense will head north, with the exception of one legion. They’ll be left here to guard the castle, under Bobby’s command. Castiel and I will head north as well. This is my mistake, and I should be there to oversee it. This is essentially Castiel’s plan, so he’ll need to be there to help. Dismissed.”

The news that both himself and Dean would be heading right to the heart of the conflict had him frozen in place. He’d given Dean the best strategy he could think of to ensure peace, and somehow it had ended with Dean about to throw himself into danger. As the council members filed out, Castiel wondered how he could talk Dean out of it.

But once they were alone, he lost any sense of tact that might have helped him.

“You’re not going,” he growled at Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but did you just give me an _order_? This ain’t my bedroom, Cas. You don’t get to tell me what to do here.”

“And yet I am. You’re not going. This is absurd. You’re the king, you can’t go throwing yourself into danger.” _You’re the man I love, I won’t let you do something so foolish._ “The generals are more than capable of following your orders. There’s no reason for you to be there—”

“No reason for me to be there?” Dean jumped to his feet and glared at Castiel, matching his combative tone. “My people are _dying_ because I sent them there. I can’t _not_ go, Cas. I need to be there.”

“Your father _died_ up there!” Castiel roared, no longer trying to be diplomatic. He was angry, _furious_ , that Dean had so little regard for his own safety. “He died fighting these same me. _I_ could’ve been killed by them many times, and I’ve had training. I won’t let you go there and see you _die_.”

Shocked by the outburst, Dean backed away. The fight instantly went out of Cas and he looked away in shame.

“Apologies. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I-I just—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Dean crowded into his space, stroked his cheek, kissed his nose, and forced Cas to meet his eyes. “You’re worried, I get it. But you’ll be there to take care of me, right? You’ll protect me.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 _I can’t lose you. I’m already going to lose your embrace, I can’t lose_ **_you_ ** _._

“And I won’t,” Dean said adamantly. “I promise.”

Castiel swallowed and nodded. He hated this plan, hated the part he’d played in creating it, but he knew there was nothing he could do except do his job and keep Dean safe. He would _not_ fail.

\- - - -

While Dean and Bobby handled the logistics of organizing the army, Castiel threw himself into re-familiarizing himself with the tactics and weapons used by the northern tribes. He’d spend hours each day training with Gordon, to the point where he went to bed each night exhausted and aching. Dean huffed in disappointment that Cas was usually too tired for sex, but he massaged Cas’ sore muscles and very loudly admired the effects of his working out.

“I don’t know _what_ you’re doing to get thighs like this, but if you keep it up, you’ll need all new pants.”

“How are your biceps so _big_? You could hold a guy down and do whatever you want with him…”

“Do you never wear a shirt when you’re training in the courtyard? Your back is so tan…”

“Bet the new calluses on your hands will feel _amazing_ on my dick.”

Castiel brushed off the praise (though he hoped to reap the benefits of it later, once they’d safely returned to the castle and this whole mess was behind them). He was doing it for two reasons and two reasons alone: so that he could better protect Dean when they got to the north, and so he could distract himself from his growing unease.

He’d never been so nervous about a fight before in his life.

When he’d been stationed up north, it’d been nerve-wracking, but he’d managed. Even with friends and comrades there, it’d been very much a personal experience. He needed to learn certain skills, and he’d done his best to do that. Going there as Dean’s bodyguard… it was an enormous responsibility.

Not that it wasn’t _already_ an enormous responsibility. The assassination attempt years ago never truly faded from Castiel’s mind; he knew all too well that danger lurked everywhere, even here at the capital. But there was a _huge_ difference between the daily risks Dean faced at court versus the enormous amount of danger one faced on a battlefield.

And he knew damned well that Dean would insist on being on the battlefield if it came down to it. Dean was stubborn and too inexperienced in combat to realize how _awful_ an idea that was.

At least his training had the intended effect. The preparations and actual trip north passed in such a whirlwind of activity, Castiel couldn’t say how long it had taken for them to arrive at the main stronghold. Even their arrival caused a flurry of commotion and agitation (apparently the generals had _not_ expected Dean to actually show up _in person_ ) that it wasn’t until a squire announced the arrival of an envoy that Castiel realized _they were really here_.

How surreal his life had been, if it could pass almost like a dream.

“And you are…?” Dean asked as he eyed the messenger. She was pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes and a devious smile. She wore black leather armor decorated with fox fur. A dagger hung from the left side of her belt, an axe from the right; both close range weapons that Castiel had no doubt she could wield with deadly force.

“Ruby.”

“Ruby, then. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to negotiate terms of surrender.”

“Really?” Dean said doubtfully, sharing a quick look with Cas. “Just like that, your people will surrender?”

“No,” she laughed. “I’m here for _your_ surrender. Lord Lucifer heard that the ever distant boy king was here, and he assumed it meant you’d realized how _serious_ this matter is. And if you know that, you _must_ be here to surrender and give us what we want.”

Dean balked at her, then laughed and rolled eyes. “Alright, sweetheart. This should be worth a laugh. What is it that you and your people want?”

“We want your people to withdraw from our ancestral lands. As far back as Ilchester, if not farther south. You’ll pay tribute to us in goods and gold, wealth enough to keep us from pressing our claim even further into your lands. And we want you to bow before Lucifer and acknowledge him as King of the Northern Wilds. He deserves all the respect that the title commands.”

There was silence in the tent after Ruby’s declaration, all eyes turned to Dean. Several knights reached for their swords, ready to strike down Ruby for her insolent words should the king wish it. Dean waved them off and they relaxed minutely.

“Yeah?” Dean countered. “Well piss off. The lands of Winchester don’t bow to some witch king in the north. Not now, not ever. And yes, I’ve heard all about the human sacrifice your ‘lord’ takes part in. So go crawl back down the piss hole you came out of and tell your master he can either surrender or die.”

Ruby’s eyes flashed dangerously and she let out a half snarl. It lasted only a second, and then she appeared impassive and disinterested.

“Very well. I’ll see you on the battlefield, _king_.” She bowed low and retreated. Dean’s men parted for her, and she went with her head held high as though she didn’t owe his life to Dean’s benevolence right now.

“Your elocution isn’t fitting for a king,” Castiel reprimanded once she was gone. To anyone who overheard, it might have been mistaken for insolence. A few shocked faces turned their way, but he ignored them.

Dean, however, knew it to be a teasing jibe and belted out a laugh. He pounded Castiel hard on the back before pulling him into a side hug. “No, it mostly certainly isn’t. But one of the perks about being king is no one can give you shit for it. _Except_ for insubordinate knights who think they can overstep their bounds without getting punished for it.” Then he pulled Cas into a headlock and mussed his hair. “Elocution? Where you get this shit? _You_ trying to be king, huh? Put all that fancy learning of yours to good use?”

Castiel made little effort to extract himself from the hold. As monotone as he could, he replied, “The kingdom may benefit from someone with a more delicate touch. You’re earning yourself quite the reputation.”

“Says the guy who’s literally _paid_ to kill.” Dean finally released Cas and playfully pushed him away. “Speaking of, go meet up with the cavalry and make sure they’re alert and ready for an attack.”

“Of course, my lord.”

As he walked away, he happened to glance back. Dean was staring after him with a thoughtful expression. When their eyes met, Dean smiled. Not the smile he usually gave to the court, but something private and tender that was saved just for Castiel.

That night when he entered the king’s private tent, he was in no way surprised when Dean pounced on him. Dean kissed him again and again as his hands fumbled with Cas’ clothes.

“Shit, I don’t know how knights aren’t constantly fucking each other,” Dean muttered as he finally got Castiel’s belt undone. “There hasn’t even been a battle yet and my adrenaline’s got me all riled up. I’ve been hard since this afternoon, for fuck’s sake.”

“Normally we just use our hands and take care of it ourselves—Oh. This is _much_ better.” He groaned and threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean was already working him to full hardness with his mouth, and Castiel was definitely _not_ going to complain.

\- - - -

A few days later they were woken before dawn. Scouts had reported a large mass of troops approaching from the northeast. They’d reach the camp by noon if not sooner. (And if the circumstances weren’t so dire, Castiel might have found it amusing how the poor scout had blushed profusely when he saw the king in bed with his bodyguard.)

Because they had the better position, Dean’s men just had to put on their armor, get into formation, and wait. The men were antsy as they stood there, trying to keep each other’s spirits and courage up and looking toward the treeline for movement.

Dean, in his own polished armor made specifically for this battle, sat atop his horse and glared impatiently at the empty field between their encampment and the trees.

“Think they’ll actually come or will they back down?”

“Tactically, they _should_ retreat,” Castiel said. “Our numbers are far superior, but it’s a matter of pride at this point. They _can’t_ back down. They’ll come.”

“Yeah, well I wish they’d just attack already so we can get this over with. I don’t care how hot you look in your battle armor, I want to be back home and I want my people safe.”

When the battle horns sounded and the first wave of northerners broke through the trees, Castiel lost all of the worries he’d been working so hard to ignore. This was battle; it was adrenaline and instinct and life or death, it was the swing of his sword and the clang of metal on metal. There was no room for anything other than reacting.

The arrows were loosed to take down as many of those charging them as they could. After the archers were done, the commanders shouted at the lines to be ready.

Dean, as predicted, hadn’t allowed himself to be kept at the back lines. He wasn’t in the front, either, but he was close enough that it was more than likely that the bloodshed would be spilled right in front of him.

The moment that happened—a group broke through the ranks but a hundred feet in front of them—Castiel took over. He charged forward with the small contingent under his command. He’d taken fifteen of the best fighters as part of Dean’s personal bodyguard; hand picked for their skill and bravery, there was no way anyone was getting through to Dean.

With the chill air in his lungs and the smell of blood filling his nose, Castiel spared a moment to admit he’d missed this. There was something pure about battle. Men at their most brutal, unrestrained by the rules of civilization, using nothing but their skill and strength to settle things.

That was the mistake. Cas got too caught up in the moment. He was pulling his sword from the skull of some dead northerner twice his size when he heard the shouts.

“The king! The king! Rally to the king!”

He could hear his blood pumping in his ears as he ran back. He struck down everyone in his path (thankfully those wearing the Winchester crest stayed well clear of him) and got to Dean’s side. There was a dead woman before him wearing Winchester’s colors, but her hairstyle and boots were purely northern. A spy, then. The subterfuge had gotten her close enough to knock Dean from his horse.

Kneeling beside Dean, letting the other soldiers form a ring around them, he quickly inspected Dean for injuries. The bruising and scrapes from his fall didn’t matter to Castiel so long as they were the worst of it. If there was blood…

There was a rip in the fabric near his elbow. It was one of the few places _not_ protected by the heavy armor Castiel had demanded Dean wear. Dean had complained that he could barely move and Castiel had pointed out that he didn’t _need_ to move since he wouldn’t be fighting. And still, despite that, he’d gotten hurt.

When he pushed aside the rough linen, Castiel found blood flowing freely. The wound wasn’t deep, probably wouldn’t even need stitches, but it was a wound nonetheless.

Dean had gotten hurt.

_Dean had gotten hurt._

Red filled his vision. These fucking barbarians had attacked their kingdom, had demanded things they had to right to demand, and then they’d dared lay a hand to Dean. _Dean._

And Castiel had _let_ them.

“Cas? Where are you going—Cas! Come back—! CASTIEL!”

For the first time in his life, Castiel ignored Dean. He strode right into the thick of battle and didn’t look back.

With practiced calm, he pushed his sword through the gut of a tribesman who attacked him. The second man got a slit throat for his efforts, the third and fourth lost an arm each before Castiel mercifully kicked them down and crushed their skulls. The fifth was stabbed in the back, the sixth decapitated, the seventh, eighth, and ninth were stricken across the chest with such strength that blood splattered everywhere. They dropped like flies. Castiel didn’t care.

He honestly lost track after that. His sword swung, people fell, and he moved on to the next. He’d take out the entire northern army singlehandedly if need be, so long as none of them _ever_ got close to Dean again.

His muscles ached. They were tired. _He_ was tired. The smart thing to do would be to fall back and let the rest of the soldiers do their work.

He did not go back. It felt too good to be out there, killing these men and women. He imagined the face of Dean’s would-be assassin on each of them as he slashed away. It was so damn _satisfying_ to extract some sort of revenge, even if it wasn’t on the woman who’d actually hurt Dean. These were her kin, and they would have to do.

Castiel was getting sloppy. Part of him saw it and tried to readjust. The broadsword was too heavy, his arms losing strength by the minute, and soon there was nothing he could do. He cast the sword aside and moved to his dagger. It meant getting closer to his enemies, but pure grit and determination were on his side.

Minutes, hours, years might have passed, but Castiel pushed himself to keep going.

And then his leg flared in agony. He staggered forward, and then it was his right side that burned with intense pain. Before he could regain his balance, Castiel stumbled to the ground. His mind was fuzzy, his vision blurry, and the last thing Cas saw before passing out was the blue and black standard of Winchester rushing towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus Scene:**
> 
>  
> 
> “I mean, at least until I’m married, I have to appear unaffected by that sort of thing. After that, you can speak up all you want in council meetings.” Dean winked at him, then frowned as if he’d realized what he’d just said and wished he could take it back.
> 
>  
> 
> Dean’s actual thought: “Shit did I just accidentally propose? Fuck I hope he didn’t catch that so I can do a better job later…”
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also dean you fucking idiot if you’d said ‘when we get married’ instead of focusing on yourself maybe cas would understand you love him back.~~


	10. Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaay! a new chapter. and like the last few things i've posted to ao3, i'm posting this at ass o'clock at night (my time), so this is either a nice treat for those of you up late or a morning surprise for the rest of you :)
> 
> no new tags this chapter, but a super strong emphasis on that miscommunication tag. if dean's behavior is at all confusing, lemme know and i'll be happy to talk about what's going through his head. it's hard to always get it across when it's cas' pov and cas has like *no clue* what's going on ever. oh! and one last side note: you can blame [unforth](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com) for inspiring 95% of the smut this chapter.
> 
> and now here's the part where i pretend to have any idea how long this story will be... guessing based on my *current* outline, there are two chapters and an epilogue left? but i suspect i'm wrong......
> 
> as always, feel free to stop by and visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com). i'm there most days and post new ficlets all the time when i'm not on ao3.

Castiel woke up groggy, in pain, and alone.

He lay still as his eyes adjusted to the low light. Though he'd feared waking up on the battlefield or in the healer's tent or maybe even in an enemy camp, but as far as Castiel could tell, he was tucked safely in Dean's bed. He could hear voices outside as the tent flaps waved gently in the breeze, but the words were too indistinct for him to make them out and honestly he didn’t much care at the moment.

Satisfied that he was safe (and more importantly that Dean was safe; he could think of no one else who would order to have him brought back to the king’s tent while obviously still injured), he inspected his injuries.

Moving was difficult, pain medication making his limbs uncoordinated. It took some fumbling to even ease himself up enough that he was sitting, and only then did he manage to jerk the blankets off him.

He was naked under the covers, excepting some bandages. His right side is covered in gauze, though they hadn’t bled through. When he poked at it, it stung. More gentle probing revealed nothing, so he gave up on that injury. There was nothing he could do without removing the bandages, and he knew better than to do so without a healer present.

Next he moved on to his legs. He vaguely remembered pain flaring up from the left side of his body before he passed out, and he quickly found the source. His left leg was propped up on pillows, though completely unbandaged. His knee was covered in a massive bruise, mostly black but with purple and red parts around the edges. If he lay completely still, it didn’t hurt, but the instant he tried to move, agony ripped through him.

It was unlikely he’d be walking on his own until it’d healed, not unless it was iced or he was under stronger medication than he currently was.

Though considering what little he remembered of the battle, he was probably in better shape than he should be.

Before Castiel could ponder his good fortune too long, the tent flap opened to reveal Dean. He wore a scowl on his face and his steps were angry as he yelled back at someone outside to leave him alone. He looked absolutely distraught, possibly even more upset than when he’d found out about his father’s death, and Castiel is shocked. How badly did the battle go if Dean was this devastated?

Aside from his obvious foul mood, he looked good. His armor was gone, replaced with leather pants, a tunic, and a vest.

If Castiel weren’t himself injured, he’d be hard pressed to think there’d even been a battle.

He sat there a moment, staring at Dean and silently thanking the gods that he was okay, before he ventured to speak.

“Dean?”

His voice sounded terrible, wheezy and thin from disuse, but Dean immediately responded. He perked up and turned his attention to castiel.

“Oh thank fuck, you’re awake.” He rushed over to Cas and hugged him, though he was surprisingly mindful of Cas’ injuries as though he knew where each and every one of them was. “I lost my dad to these people, and now I almost lost you too… You have no idea how much I’ve worried. The healers assured me you’d be fine, but I couldn’t get it out of my head that you’d never wake up and it’d be all my fault—”

“It’s okay, Dean.” He awkwardly hugged him back, rejoicing in the fact that his king was strong and healthy. “It’s my job.”

Dean pulled away and settled on the edge of the bed. It almost looked like there were tears in his eyes, but Castiel assumed it was a trick of the light.

“Well, your job sucks.”

He shrugged. “It has its perks.”

That earned him a shy smile, but it didn’t last long before he glared sternly at Castiel. “Seriously, though, don’t _ever_ fucking do that again, you hear me?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “They shouldn’t have hurt you. And _I_ should’ve paid more attention. No one should’ve broken through the lines and gotten anywhere _near_ you, and yet you still were attacked. They _hurt_ you, Dean.”

As far as he was concerned, the northerners had gotten off easy. He didn’t even know _what_ the outcome of the battle was, but whatever had happened, if even a single man or woman still stood, it wasn’t enough.

“Hey,” Dean said gently. “You and your men were doing a great job defending me. That woman only got through because of her disguise. I don’t want you to think you failed me or anything. You did amazing. Seriously, they’re still arguing about how many people you killed. Some of your more… _vocal_ supporters swear it was at least a hundred, but more _reasonable_ counts have it closer to forty. I’m not sure I would believe that if I hadn’t seen you take down at least a couple dozen with my own eyes. Most men only killed one, maybe five, mabe a dozen if they were at the very front of the line. You were badass, Cas.”

Cas ignored all the undeserved praise and focused in on the only thing that actually mattered.

“I did fail you, though. I’m your bodyguard. My only job is to make sure _you_ are okay. You got hurt.”

“... Is that really all you heard?” Dean laughed humorlessly. He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a bandage of his own, then unwrapped it to show a shallow cut. It would likely scar, but it was healing nicely. Castiel was no healer, but it didn’t look bad at all. The thin red line showed no hint of infection and was already scabbing.

“Technically, yes, I was injured,” Dean said as he wrapped the wound back up. “But I’ve gotten worse injuries rough housing with Sam. I’m fine, all things considered. You didn’t need to go take on their army singlehandedly just to avenge me or anything.”

Castiel wanted to argue that he did, he well and truly _did_ have to because those bastards had hurt his king, his best friend, the love of his life, and there was no way he could let that stand. The only thing that stopped him from arguing further was the haunted look in Dean’s eyes.

Ah. Dean felt guilty. He shouldn’t, but he did. As though it weren’t Castiel’s life purpose to keep Dean safe. Even if it weren’t his job, he could do no less than he did.

Fine. Castiel would let it go. No need to cause Dean to hurt more.

“I’m glad it wasn’t worse,” he offered diplomatically.

Dean shrugged, far too nonchalant about his own injury. “How do _you_ feel?”

“Like my leg is about to fall off,” he groused as he tried to find a comfortable position amongst the pillows. Sitting up had exhausted him, and he needed to take the pressure off his side. Just as he settled in, he saw the horrified look on Dean’s face. “I’m exaggerating. Mostly.”

“You took a club to the leg and an axe to the side.” His expression was tight, and Castiel knew he was recounting not secondhand accounts but rather what he himself witnessed. “The axe, it broke through the armor and cut you. The armor did block the worst of it, but there’s a gash and there was a lot of blood.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” he said sincerely. “But I’m fine now.”

Dean snorted and looked pointedly at his injuries. Castiel realized he was still naked and without even the blanket to shield him from view. It felt strange to be laid bare in front of Dean while he was still fully dressed, yet he did nothing to cover himself.

“I'm going to check your bandages,” Dean said as he sprung to his feet. “Get you cleaned up,  too. And while I do that, you…” He procured a flask and a tray of nuts and berries. “You eat.”

Castiel gladly accepted the food and flask, but scowled as Dean went to fetch more gauze from a pack. “Dean,  you really don't have to do that. The healer—”

“Has a camp full of other injured soldiers to look out for. Besides, I _want_ to do it.  Let me take care of my best friend, would you?”

That shut Castiel up, any rebuttal he could think of not enough to override his selfish desire to be the center of Dean's attention. Instead of further protest, he watched as Dean gingerly removed the old bandages—which did not seem all that bad, considering he'd taken an axe wound—and distracted himself by nibbling at the berries.

Dean was just finishing up dabbing the edges of the cut with some ointment when Castiel reached for the flask. He took a long sip from it, then almost immediately spit it out. He’d expected wine, but instead he’d tasted something awful that as decidedly _not_ wine.

“What the hell is this?” he asked as he sniffed at the container suspiciously.

“Mineral water mixed with herbs known for their medicinal value and pain relief.” Dean gave him a sharp look as he wiped up the mess Cas had made.

“... I’d prefer wine.”

“Wine’s not good for you when you’ve lost blood. Drink up.”

“… You're stricter than the actual healers.”

“The actual healers don't care about you the way I do. So drink up or I'll tie you up and force feed it to you.”

Castiel flushed, both from hearing Dean’s repeated insistence that he cared for Cas and, more surprisingly, from enjoying the idea of being tied up. Surely Dean wouldn’t… Though he _could_ , couldn’t he? They were in a camp, there would be plenty of rope available. In his weakened state, it’s hardly like Castiel could _do_ anything about it besides give some meager resistance. Dean could tie him to the bed in any position he wanted, really, and do whatever he wanted to him.

His treacherous cock started to fill as the fantasy played out behind his eyes.

“Would you like that?” Dean asked with a knowing smirk. “If I tied you down and had my way with you?”

“No,” he growled even as his cock twitched. Determined not to let Dean know how very much he _did_ lie that idea, he stubbornly downed the rest of the flask in one go.

“Good boy,” Dean said, stroking his thigh.

That definitely didn’t help his growing erection.

To hell with it, he thought. It’s not like he could do anything else while he was injured, he may as well enjoy Dean’s company. Castiel started to shift, wanting to pull Dean in for a kiss, but Dean easily dodged his attempt.

“I’m serious. You’re hurt. If you don’t let me finish cleaning you up, I _will_ tie you down.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Dean firmly pushed the center of Cas’ chest until he fell back onto the pillows. “I would. But I won’t have to, because you’re a good knight who does what his king asks. So stay still, relax, and trust me to take care of you.”

There was a hint of innuendo there (or perhaps it was a promise?), but Dean pointedly ignored Castiel’s cock as he checked his knee, refilled the flask, and started giving Castiel a sponge bath. Most of the grime and dirt from battle was gone, and Castiel suspected Dean had already fulfilled this task a few times already. Which meant him doing it now was done simply to torment Castiel.

He started at Castiel’s feet, giving attention to each toe, and then worked his way up Cas’ legs. Dean was careful around the injured knee, only making Cas twitch once in pain, but otherwise there was nothing but the dull throb that he suspected would accompany him for several weeks yet. Again Dean ignored his cock, moving instead to his arms to repeat the process until he got to Castiel’s chest. He was rougher than he needed to be as he brought the rough fabric of the washcloth over Cas’ nipples. Cas arched into the touch, which only made Dean pinch his arm.

“I said don’t move,” he scolded.

Castiel nodded and tried to lie perfectly still as Dean worked lower and lower. The cloth brushed against his navel then trailed down to work around his cock. Cas whimpered but didn’t move. Dean hadn’t said he needed to stay quiet, so he let little noises pour out as Dean meticulously cleaned his cock, his balls, then spread his legs (ever mindful of his injuries) to clean his hole. The touches could have been completely innocent, simply a friend helping out another friend, if it weren’t for the hungry look in Dean’s eyes as he watched every moan and husky gasp he drew out of Castiel.

“You’re doing so well,” Dean said as he tossed the cloth aside. He reached for one of the pillows and used it to lift up Castiel’s hips as he settled between his legs. “Now time for your reward.”

The touch he assumed would come to his dick instead was used to trace his hole.

Yes, that’s good too, he thought as he bucked a little into the touch.

“Ah ah,” Dean tsked as he drew his hand away. “You still have to try and stay still. I don’t want you to get hurt while I fuck you.”

“Dean,” he moaned, throwing his head back. “Yes, please. Please…”

“Of course.” The gentle pressure was back, coaxing him to relax. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I knew you’d be okay. You were so fucking amazing in that battle. You killed effortlessly. Brutally. If I hadn’t been terrified you were going to die, it would’ve been the most arousing sight I’ve ever seen in my life. Luckily for me… I can gladly recall every detail now that I know the outcome and have you safe in my bed again.”

There was a pause before warm breath ghosted along Castiel’s hole. He clenched reflexively, then forced himself to relax. Soon Dean’s tongue licked tentatively around his rim. Then again, with more pressure. Again and again until he was ruthlessly fucking his tongue into Castiel.

The whole time, Castiel lay there, wishing he could put a hand on his cock but knowing Dean wouldn’t allow it. He was completely at Dean’s mercy as his clever tongue worked Castiel closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean…” he whimpered. His hand clenched in an effort to keep it from moving to grab at Dean’s hair. His right leg was stiff as Castiel tried not to wrap it around Dean’s back and draw him even closer. His whole body rebelled against the very notion of giving up control to Dean, but his mind reveled in it.

Dean’s mouth briefly left him and Castiel wordlessly groaned in complaint. It didn’t last long, though; no sooner was his mouth gone from his hole, it was on his cock. He lavished the head with attention, tonguing at his slit. While he started to take Castiel into his mouth little by little, teasing him even now, a slick finger took over for his tongue.

If he’d been more coherent, he might’ve wondered when Dean had gotten a bottle of oil. As it was, he couldn’t put a thought together that wasn’t _more more **more**._

Without needing to hear the request, Dean obliged. He fucked his fingers—first one, then two, then three—into Castiel, mercilessly attacking his prostate, as his head bobbed up and down. The sight was beautiful, the sensations indescribably good, and Castiel was completely lost.

He cried wordlessly as he came, his hips rolling up into Dean’s mouth and back onto his fingers. Dean swallowed everything he gave and stayed there, licking up what he’d missed. Once Castiel was no longer oversensitive, his fingers continued their work stretching him open.

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” Dean whispered as he stole a kiss. Cas’ tongue eagerly chased the taste of his own release; he always loved that tangible proof of what Dean had done to him. “Can I fuck you?”

Castiel hummed his agreement. He’d felt awake earlier, but his orgasm had taken his remaining energy. Exhaustion overtook him, and it bothered him that he was so weak he was already falling asleep again. Not even a couple hours had passed and he could barely keep his eyes open.

At least he could let Dean use his body. Dean could find some satisfaction in their time together, even if Castiel couldn’t provide that satisfaction himself.

Dean undressed without any hurry. He carefully laid out his clothes, folded them up, and put them on the table near the bed. Castiel didn’t know how he could be so patient; Cas had already come and Dean was clearly hard and wanting. There was no one’s pleasure to draw out but his own, yet he never rushed as he slicked up his cock with oil and started to gently press into Castiel’s stretched and ready hole.

“You just relax,” Dean said once he was fully inside him. He kissed along Cas’ forehead and drew his thumb across Cas’ cheek. “You go to sleep, you need your rest. I’ll take care of you.”

Castiel frowned. That made no sense. Dean had _already_ taken care of him. Surely this was for Dean? Of course Castiel enjoyed feeling Dean’s cock sliding in and out of him, and the slow, deliberate pace was actually quite pleasant, but this must be for Dean. Why would he keep going if not for his own sake?

But Dean didn’t drive into him and blindly seek his own release. He kept his movements controlled, held his weight off of Castiel’s injuries, and did his best to hit Castiel’s prostate as much as possible. And it wasn’t as though he weren’t affected; there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and he griped the sheets to keep from losing control. Dean clearly _wanted_ more, but his focus was entirely on Cas.

“Don’t you _ever_ do anything like that _ever_ again, you hear me?” Dean rasped, his rhythm stuttering a little before he regained control. “I love you too much to lose you, okay?”

Cas’ breath caught until he remembered that _of course_ Dean loved him. Just as Castiel loved Sam, Dean loved him in a brotherly, familial way. Well, perhaps not _too_ brotherly, given the copious amounts of sex they’ve had and their current position, but it wasn’t romantic.

At least not the way it is for Cas.

“Look at me,” Dean begged. He tilted Cas’ chin up so he was forced to look into dazzling green eyes. “I love you. _Please_ take better care of yourself. I won’t risk you, not for all of Winchester. I’ll personally disband the army if that’s what I have to do to keep you from another battle like that. _Promise_ me.”

Everything in Cas rejected Dean’s confession. He was a soldier, a knight, it was his entire purpose to fight. Dean’s declarations of love were beautiful, but they weren’t his to take. They were destined for Dean’s future bride, whoever that might be, and Dean was merely so caught up in his relief that he’d forgotten himself.

“Dean… I-I promise. I won’t… I won’t do it again.” Castiel said the words, but only because he knew it was the only way he could look away from all that affection Dean was giving him. It hurt too much to hear them and know it wouldn’t last.

It was a lie, of course. Castiel would always put himself in harm’s way if it meant saving Dean. If the lie comforted Dean, though, Castiel wouldn’t deny him that.

“Good.” Dean rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek.

After Dean had come (chanting Cas’ name reverently like a prayer), Castiel finally let himself succumb to sleep’s pull. He was only vaguely aware of Dean cleaning them both up. He actually thought he might be asleep when he heard Dean pull up a chair to sit next to him. The brush of Dean’s hand as it covered his own was surely his own imagination...

\- - - -

Although it'd been early in the day when he first woke up, it was the dead of night when he roused a second time. Castiel hated being so damn tired, but between his injuries and the herbs, it was an inevitable part of recovery.

At least he was awake at all.

He stretched and gasped as the sudden movement pulled at his wound and caused lightning sharp pain in his knee.

“Cas?” Dean croaked as he half jumped, half fell from his chair. “You alright? What happened? Should I fetch the healer?”

Castiel himself startled a bit to see Dean (and so out of sorts) but he smiled reassuring. Or that was the goal; lingering pain might have made it more a grimace than anything else.

“Just stretched more than I should have. It's fine.”

“‘Kay.” Dean yawned and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Lemme get you some food and we can talk.”

While Dean ran out to find something more nourishing than berries and nuts, Castiel rearranged the pillows so he could sit up. It was a monumental task, given how he could barely twist in one direction, but he refused to ask for more of Dean’s help. He would not be a burden.

Under Dean’s watchful eye, Castiel was practically force fed two turkey legs, some vegetables, a piece of pie, and more of that terrible healing elixir.

“I don’t think I should be eating so much while I’m recovering,” Castiel said with a wry smile.

“You were out cold for two days. You need to eat. So eat.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Only after Dean was satisfied that he’d eaten enough did they actually _talk_ , now satisfying Castiel’s curiosity about the battle.

After the northerners retreated, a small battalion was sent in pursuit. They were able to corner the survivors in a ravine and take most of them hostages. That was how they learned that Lucifer was killed in battle; Dean’s men spent the better part of the night combing through the bodies to find his corpse, just to prove it was true. They did, and questions were raised about who command would fall to now that Lucifer was dead.

The northerners generally agreed that a man named Cain, one of Lucifer’s “knights” despite him being anything but a formal knight as Winchester knew them, was the one who would take over. Thankfully, he was one of the men taken in the ravine. After that, it was easy to negotiate surrender. Even though they were beaten, Dean followed Castiel’s advice and gave them fair terms. He made trade and travel easier, though denied them access to weapons while across the border. Winchester would also keep the strong military presence and then reassess the deal in a few months.

Cas was proud of Dean. This whole thing could’ve easily ended in disaster, but dean earned himself a military and political victory. Not bad for his first year as king.

“Things seem to have worked out very well,” Castiel said. He was tired again, and he was starting to suspect the elixir was also meant to help him sleep. No matter what Dean said, he wouldn’t be drinking more of it. This was ridiculous.

“I suppose,” Dean acknowledged, eyes tight. “I’d rather not have sacrificed any soldiers’ lives if I didn’t have to, but it sounds like Lucifer would’ve been working to start a war no matter what I did. The military presence simply gave him an excuse. If it didn’t happen now, it would’ve happened eventually.”

He reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand. “You can’t save everyone, Dean. It’s the burden of being king.”

“I know,” Dean said as he heaved a sigh. Then he brought Cas’ hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle in turn. “But I should at least be able to save the ones I care about. I can’t believe you got hurt—”

“Dean,” he said more harshly than he needed to as he pulled his hand away. “It’s done. I’m fine—” Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel’s knee. “—I’ll _be_ fine. I’m a knight, I can handle injuries as well as I can handle battle. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, though Castiel assumed it merely meant Dean wouldn’t bring it up again instead of actually letting it go. Given his own guilt about Dean’s wound, he completely understood. “Want me to read to you while you fall asleep?”

“... Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Alright, lemme find a book.”

\- - - -

Castiel hated being confined to the king’s tent. Worse was being limited to the bed. Oh it was a lovely and comfortable bed, but it strained his nerves. He’d hated when he’d been bedridden during his last stay up north, and this was even worse. He spent his days either asleep or awake with nothing to do to keep his mind occupied. Boredom and worry were his constant companions.

Never mind that he felt so fucking useless he wanted to rip his hair out.

He was Dean’s bodyguard. How could he perform his job if he could barely walk?

Dean was abominably overbearing, fussing over him to the point that Castiel could no longer deem it helpful. Whenever he was around, he insisted on bringing Castiel anything he needed. Cas insisted often that he wasn’t an invalid, that he needed to get back to his former self, but Dean brushed it off and continued to baby him.

It got so bad, that the instant Dean left to perform his kingly duties, Cas would sneak out of bed and do laps around the tent. Stretching his leg hurt but also felt good; it was getting stronger each day, and he longed to test himself with a walk around the camp.

Maybe he could sneak out while Dean was asleep...

\- - - -

It took nearly a week to convince Dean he was fit to travel. Most of the troops that had come in for support had already disbanded and gone back to their stations. The only ones who hadn’t returned were those who had served as Dean’s personal escort; whenever Dean _did_ decide to head back, they would return to the castle with him.

Castiel would ask Dean each day if now, _finally_ they could head back.

“Think you can sit in a saddle?” was Dean’s tried and true response.

“There are carriages—”

“Then it looks like we aren’t heading back yet.”

Castiel would hold his tongue and wait for the next morning.

It wasn’t as though staying there was any particular burden. He and Dean spent a good deal of time together, reading or going on tours of the area when Castiel was feeling up to it (or rather, when Dean would _believe_ him that he felt up to it). Dean liked getting to see where Castiel had spent their time apart, as well as getting to know the north in general. But it still rubbed Cas the wrong way that _he_ was the reason they were staying.

“It’s really not a big deal if I have to ride in a carriage or in a wagon,” Castiel grumbled one morning. He’d tried getting on a saddle that very day just to prove to Dean he could, but his knee had seized up in pain before he’d been able to get up. Annoyed at his own frailty, he’d given up the attempt.

“I know, but travel’s hard enough as is. I don’t want to make your injuries worse jostling around on a carriage or wagon or even horseback. Once you’re actually ready, we’ll go, you have my word. Besides,” Dean gestured to the parchments littering his desk. “I can perform all my duties as king from here.”

Castiel hobbled over to the chair next to Dean—lately he’d gotten a lot more mobility and had chosen to stay out of the damn bed as much as possible… unless Dean had specific activities in mind—and took a seat.

“And what does the king have to do today?”

“Letters,” Dean said as he held up a handful. “Lots of correspondences to return. Mostly to nobles and the like, one to Charlie, and this one…” He thumbed through the papers until the found the one he was looking for. “This one’s from Sam. He gets first priority since I miss that idiot.”

“What did he say?”

“No idea,” Dean said as he broke the seal with a dagger. “I was saving it for when you came back.”

There was a knowing look, as though Dean had seen or heard about his lack of progress with the saddle issue, before he turned his attention to the letter. His smile turned bright as he read and then he frowned slightly. “Huh.”

“What is it? Things are going well with Henry and Jess, I hope?”

“Hmm? Oh, they’re fine. It’s just uh… Jess is pregnant again. Sam’s asking if it’s okay if he names the baby after our parents. Mary if it’s a girl, John if it’s a boy. Doesn’t want to ‘steal the names’ from me.”

Castiel couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “That’s sweet of him to ask. And very exciting news for him and Jess.”

“Yeah. Can’t wait to meet my new niece or nephew. And I suppose it’s sweet of Sam to ask, but it’s silly. It’s not like I’m having any kids.” Dean handed over the letter to Cas so he could read it. “Guess I’ll write my congratulations and tell him to take the names if he wants them. I think Mom and Dad would have loved it.”

Castiel frowned, wondering what Dean meant about not having any kids. Perhaps he meant _right now_ and didn’t want to deprive Sam the names unnecessarily. … Though it was his right as king and elder brother to use those names. Strange that he wouldn’t want to save them. Dean’s devotion and love for his parents wasn’t something he showed all the time, but it was a part of him.

While Dean wrote, Castiel couldn’t make heads or tails of why it bothered him so.

\- - - -

“I know the healers gave you a clean bill of health, but just do me a favor and take it easy for a bit, okay? If you need to stop, we’ll stop and rest. There’s no rush.”

Castiel had finally proven himself by going on a ride along the border with Dean (and a dozen knights in case anything should happen; Castiel wouldn’t risk Dean’s safety merely to prove a point). The wagons were packed, the horses and soldiers lined up, and everyone waiting for Dean’s final say to head back home.

The two had a silent staring match, Dean willing Castiel to agree to his terms and Cas silently begging Dean to stop coddling him.

As usual, Cas was the first to look away.

“Whatever you command,” he grumbled as he marched stiffly to his horse.

“Good—” Dean froze in place. Castiel continued walking a few more paces before he realized Dean wasn’t following. When he turned back, Dean’s eyes were fixed on him. “Wait, what did you say?”

“Whatever you command. I’m yours to command, Dean, you know that.” His brow furrowed in concern as he saw Dean’s pained look. “I… I always do what you command,” he finished lamely, unsure what would cause Dean to react like this.

Dean looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. No matter how much Castiel thought over what they’ve said, he could find nothing wrong. Yet Dean looked so uncomfortable and upset and _off_ that it pained him more than he.

“You don’t... You don’t mean...” But he stumbled to a halt and didn’t say more.

“I’m not sure—”

“Let’s go,” Dean said firmly. “We should head back.” He started off towards the horses before turning back. “Look, I wasn’t kidding… please tell me if you need to rest. I would…” Dean struggled for a moment as he carefully chose his words. “I would greatly _appreciate_ it if you did.”

“Of course Dean.”

What had just happened?

Dean avoided him for the first hour of travel. He busied himself riding up and down the line to make sure things were in order, then settled in a few feet in front of Castiel. As much as Cas wanted to approach Dean and try to clear up whatever had gone wrong, he had no idea where to start.

Eventually, he nudged his horse forward. Though he was uncomfortable doing it, he needed to find out what was wrong.

“Cas,” Dean said in surprise as he came alongside him, the immediately looked him up and down. “Are you alright? Is your knee bothering you—”

“It’s fine Dean. I was just… wondering…” He licked his lips, unsure how to broach the topic. “About earlier…”

“Oh.” Dean sat up a little straighter in his saddle. His expression was unreadable and his tone sounded off. “Look I… I should probably have… I should have asked this awhile ago, but… what did you imagine your future would be like?”

“What?” Castiel honestly had no idea what was bothering Dean, and now he was truly confused. “What do you mean?”

“When you were younger, what did you imagine?”

“I imagined I’d be living in the castle as your bodyguard…” he said slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dean seemed frustrated by his answer, and Castiel felt lost. “Maybe I don’t understand the question…?”

“Did you ever imagine… I don’t know… a relationship? Settling down and… and maybe getting married?”

“Oh. No, of course not,” he said truthfully. Any path that lead to someone other than Dean wasn’t one he was interested in, so it’d never been part of his fantasies for the future to see himself married.

Dean winced. “Really? Not to… not to anyone?”

“No.”

“Right.” Dean swallowed and turned away. “How’d you imagine my future?”

It was Cas’ turn to wince, though thankfully Dean couldn’t see it. “You’d get married to some powerful princess or queen or noblewoman who’d caught your eye and have lots of children who would call me uncle just as you and Sam do with Bobby.”

“... Is that what you want?”

Cas truly didn’t know how to answer that. No, it wasn’t what his heart wanted, but it was the best future he could put together with what he knew would happen. If Dean was happy with his loving wife and beautiful children, and if Castiel was in any way allowed to be a part of that happiness, it would have to do.

“... Yes?”

They rode in silence for a good ten minutes. Dean looked miserable and though he kept stealing glances at Castiel, he wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“That second night after we got together… you went to your own bed,” Dean said as they rounded a curve in the road. “Why?”

_Because I thought you were done with me. I suspect every day you’re done with me. Right now I truly think I’ve messed up whatever it is we have and it’ll be over when we return to the castle. I don’t know how to fix it, and I don’t think I really have any right to. Your future’s not in bed with me but with another._

Instead of saying any of that, Castiel remained quiet.

“You know what, don’t answer that. I think I get it. I’m… I’m sorry about—” He waved his hand vaguely. “—all this. I’ll try to make it right.”

If only Castiel had any idea what Dean was talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus Scene:  
> **  
>  Healer: I’ve treated the wounds. He should be fine.  
>  **Dean:** ohthankfuckthankyouthankyou  
>  **Healer:** Now I’ll just send for some of the maids to come by and wash him up—  
>  **Dean, putting up a hand:** I’m sorry but you’ll send who to do some what now?  
>  **Healer:** I’ll send some of the maids to give him a sponge bath. Having so much dirt and grime on him only increases the risk of infection—  
>  **Dean:** Uh huh, don’t want that. Alternate plan: I’ll wash him up, and no one else touches him.  
>  **Healer:** That’s hardly work fit for a king—  
>  **Dean:** Did I fucking stutter? I’m not letting random chicks touch my naked boyfriend, even if they do work for a healer.  
>  **Healer:** … You know what, I’m just going to leave and let you deal with this on your own.


	11. The Knight's Suitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another update? whaaa? it's as though i have no other projects i'm working on atm and can focus more attention on this one ^-^
> 
> there are a couple new tags this chapter, so make sure to take a look at that. i'm still confident i only need one more chapter and maybe an epilogue to round things off (and they might be included in the same update). these boys are *this close* to actually *talking* and fixing things :) (though i should warn you, dean's overcompensating for their previous closeness with distance since he's freaking out, so you'll probably be frustrated with him this chapter)
> 
> come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com). i'll be starting a new WIP soon, and i've made a few notes about it there :)

The trip took more out of him than Castiel had expected. Though their pace was leisurely, he found himself weary each night and glad to be off his damn horse. Dean continued to shower him with attention, but he seemed more restrained. They didn't sleep together, but that was the fault of small sleeping bags and a general lack of accommodations while on the road.

Though he was sure something was off, Castiel didn't know what it was or how to fix things. The only thing he could do was hope Dean would bring it up or things would simply resolve themselves.

_Or you could take initiative and ask him yourself._

That was out if the question. It might just be his imagination, in which case he'd look needy. Or, worse, it might be the end. If that were true, he'd rather not talk about it. Talking about it meant _hearing_ it was over. He'd rather put off that conversation as long as possible.

He looked forward to returning, where they could try to regain some semblance of normalcy. He certainly planned on training again to get back into shape and over the lingering symptoms of his injuries.The more temperate climate and the familiar diet would also do wonders to aid in his recovery.

When they crested a hill and saw the castle come into view, Castiel had never seen a more welcome sight. He was home, and more importantly he’d gotten Dean back safely.

His good mood soured that night.

Castiel went to bed before Dean, his body aching for an actual mattress. He’d let Bobby take over his guard duties (not that Cas was a particularly effective guard at the moment, anyway), then excused himself to Dean’s bed chambers. Even with their lack of talking lately, it hadn’t occurred to Castiel that _this_ part of their relationship had changed.

When Dean came to bed later that night, it barely roused Castiel. Not because he so completely exhausted, but rather because Dean didn’t wrap around him as he usually did. He kept to his own side of the bed, a narrow gap of empty space between them.

For the first time since they were children, they shared a bed without touching.

There was a chance that it was a fluke, so the next night Cas went to bed as usual. This time he was fully awake when Dean crawled into bed beside him and deliberately left that gap. Though they lay but a few feet apart, it seemed a thousand miles.

There was no third time.

Mortified that Dean was apparently done with him, Castiel returned to his own room. It had a musty smell and the bed was stiff from disuse, but it was better than the silent rejection he faced in Dean’s room.

After that, Castiel saw the obvious way Dean was avoiding him. Things between them were formal and distant in ways they’d never been. Occasionally, there’d be a moment where Dean would smile at him affectionately the way he used to, but then he’d catch himself and draw back. It was like a slap in the face each time. A brutal reminder of what he’d lost.

Things were over.

Dean hadn’t said as much, but it was obvious. It wasn’t Castiel’s place to push and ask for an explanation. He would take the hint and leave it be.

\- - - -

A fortnight passed. Castiel recovered quite well. There was a faint scar on his right side, but it no longer pained him to stretch or turn. The bruising on his knee was gone and there was only mild discomfort when he left his leg in one position for too long. He learned to stretch it whenever he rolled over during the night, as well as to shift his weight more during long council meetings. All in all, he was as he’d ever been.

His heart had yet to mend.

He didn’t really expect it to, though.

\- - - -

Another fortnight came and went, and Castiel thought he might learn to bear his misery tolerably well. He was getting used to sleeping alone again, and the lack of sex didn’t bother him. Not much, anyway. He _did_ find that he missed the intimacy with Dean more than anything else, especially now that they acted like virtual strangers towards each other. Whenever they dined together, it took a visible effort on Dean’s part to find new topics of conversation.

It was on the heels of Cas’ attempts to readjust that a noblewoman came to court. She was a high ranking member of Winchester’s nobility who had spent a great deal of time abroad. Since she now intended to return to her family’s castle in the west, she was stopping by to pay her king a visit.

“My Lord,” a herald called. “May I introduce to you, Lady Daphne of the Western Lakes.”

Castiel didn’t know what he was expecting, but the graceful woman in flowing skirts who appears in the throne room somehow wasn’t it.

She had curly hair that had an auburn tone to it. Her eyes were big and a lovely shade of green that almost rivaled Dean’s.

Almost.

She swept into the room with a quiet confidence that Castiel found befitting a woman of her station and pleasantly charming (unlike a number of more boisterous and demanding noblewomen he’d seen at court). There was even a brief moment when he caught her eye and she nodded in his direction with a smile. He was so used to being invisible as Dean’s bodyguard that it warmed him to know someone had noticed him.

“Daph,” Dean said, surprising Castiel even more with his warm tone and the nickname. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

“I’m sorry I missed your brother’s wedding.” She actually sounded sorry, another difference to the nobles Castiel was used to. “The Duchess of Purgatory was rather insistent I stay to keep her company.”

Dean snorted. “How is Eve doing? I met her once when I was a boy and found her—”

“Creepy? That’s not an uncommon opinion, I assure you. But she manages the country well and is very accommodating to her guests. She let me peruse the religious texts of her monks while I was there, so I couldn’t really afford to offend her by leaving for the wedding.”

“You were of course missed, but Sam understood. I, however, might not be so forgiving,” Dean teased.

It pained Castiel to see Dean like this, so animated and at ease in a way he hadn’t been since their falling out a month ago. Why couldn’t they

“Then I shall do my best to make it up to you.” She curtseyed and was lead out of the hall towards the guest chambers.

“Why haven’t I met Lady Daphne before?” Castiel asked once they were alone in the throne room.

Dean jumped and whirled around at Cas. There was something unreadable in his gaze, but he smoothed it over before Castiel could pin it down.

“Oh, she travels a lot. I only really met her the one time, and that was while you were up north. We got along well because the first night at dinner she noticed I was nervous and she promised she wasn’t here to try and romance me.” Dean chuckled slightly at the memory, then seemed to remember himself and his audience. He straightened and played with the sleeves of his jacket, keeping his eyes everywhere but on Castiel.

Great. Now he’d inadvertently made Dean uncomfortable and was reminded that Dean was in general made uncomfortable by the prospect of people ‘romancing him.’

“She’ll be good company,” Dean finished awkwardly.

The rest of the day seemed to pass by at a crawl. Going to dinner and finding Daphne there was an absolute relief, since she defused the tense atmosphere by engaging both Dean and Castiel (as well as the other dinner guests) in conversation. By the time Castiel went to bed that night, he was glad to know that Daphne would be staying for at least a week, if not longer, while they prepared her family estate.

More and more, Castiel found himself talking to Daphne. She seemed to seek him out, finding him while other knights were watching Dean or in less formal situations where he wasn’t required to shadow Dean. Though he didn’t necessarily share Daphne’s fascination with older religious scriptures, he loved hearing about her travels and shared what little experience he had.

“Castiel, may I ask you something? It may seem a little untoward but I don’t know who else I could ask, since Sam is away with his family. I don’t want you to judge me too harshly for asking such a thing.”

“You may ask and if it is inappropriate, I will promise not to think worse of you for it,” Castiel assured her as they walked about the gardens.

Daphne took a moment’s consideration before she quietly asked, “Is there something wrong with the king? He seems…” She struggled to find the right word.

“Quiet?” he offered. Lately Dean hadn’t seemed a bit more reserved, though Castiel was under the assumption that it was only in _his_ presence that Dean looked so sullen.

“I was going to say sad,” Daphne corrected.

Well that didn’t make any sense. The kingdom was boisterous, the north was recovering well, and Dean was expecting another niece or nephew in a few months. What could he possibly be sad about?

“Why would Dean be sad?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But as his best friend, surely you might?”

The only thing in Dean’s life that had changed recently was his relationship with Castiel. If Dean were in any way unhappy, the blame was clearly on Cas. He suspected he needed to actually go and formally end things between them. Maybe that would ease Dean’s discomfort.

“I’m… unsure,” Castiel hedged. “Perhaps he’s still adjusting to wearing the crown.”

“Perhaps.” Daphne didn’t sound convinced. “I suppose you would know better than I. Dean and I were friendly but never friends, not truly. It’s rare to become that close to someone after such a short acquaintance. I, for example, feel far closer to you in the three days we’ve known each other than I do with Dean after more than five times that amount.”

Castiel nearly tripped when he heard that, a blush burning at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to hear you and Dean don’t get along.”

“Oh it’s not that,” she said with a dismissive wave. “We get along just fine. It’s more that you’re more approachable. Even though you’re just as kind and smart and handsome and highly placed as Dean, you don’t have whatever air it is that future kings must be born with. When I met him, there was this distance… this _regalness_ that he put out. You seem more open.”

“I—” So many protests warred to topple out first. _Dean’s not distant. I’m not nearly as kind or smart or handsome as him. I’m obviously not as highly placed, he’s my **king**. Dean’s so good and righteous and everything I could ever hope a man to be. I’m nothing._ Instead he continued walking, floundering for something to say.

“Ah, and there’s the line I shouldn’t have crossed.” Daphne gently wound her arm through Castiel’s and patted his hand. “I know he’s your dearest friend. You’re loyal and too kind-hearted to want hear anyone speak ill of him. I promise you, though, I know Dean’s a good man. But he’s a king. He’ll always be at arm’s length to his subjects. You’re one of the few he’s let in, so I’m sure it’s harder for you to notice.”

Finally his tongue would cooperate. “I think you do me too much credit. I’m not… any of those things.”

She started to laugh and then stopped herself. Her eyes went wide and she hid a gasp behind her hand. “Oh Castiel, you truly believe that, don’t you? Castiel, you truly are an exceptional man. I’ve heard so much about you, and I’m surprised that the stories actually undersell you. And yes, even I, who was nearly an expatriate for going on five years, heard about _you_.”

His throat felt dry and he swallowed. It didn’t help.

“What do they say about me?”

“Everything that I already have. That you’re an asset to the privy council because of your military experience and strategic mind. That you’re kind and good to your core, something rare in a man whose sole occupation is to fight. And I’ve seen for myself that you’re handsome, well spoken, and completely worthy of all the praise those who have met you have given. Though I admit, none has spoken more highly of you than Dean. Last I was here, you were away for training if I recall correctly.”

In a daze, Castiel nodded.

“He was positively _miserable_ about it. He went on and on about his best friend and how he hoped you were safe. I was very sorry not to have met you back then, though I’m very pleased to get the chance now. Honestly, my curiosity about you was half the reason I decided to come to court before heading home.”

Castiel had never been the subject of such open admiration and flattery before. She seemed to think he had worth beyond how well he could swing his sword. Or how good he was at warming a bed…

He shook his head to dispel that last thought. Apparently he wasn’t much good at that, anyway, if Dean was done with him.

“I’m surely not enough to warrant such a detour.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Daphne’s eyes lit up and Castiel swallowed nervously. There was something familiar about the way she was looking at him, though he couldn’t for the life of him explain _how_ or where he’d seen such a look turned on him. “You seem more than worth it, from where I’m standing.”

As if sensing his confusion, Daphne changed the topic. Even so, she managed to slip in compliments throughout the remainder of their walk.

\- - - -

Before dinner that night, Daphne managed to slip away and approach Dean. They both waved Castiel ahead, and thinking nothing of it, Castiel went to the dining hall.  The two likely had things to discuss in regards to Daphne’s return, and there was little Cas could do to help with the logistics involved, so obviously he wasn’t needed.

He was buttering a slice of bread when they both entered. Daphne had a secretive smile and flushed pink when she caught Castiel’s eye. He frowned and turned his attention to Dean. Dean looked resigned and… sad. Cas finally saw it, the sadness Daphne had mentioned, more pronounced than it’s been over the past few weeks.

Unlike Daphne, Dean wouldn’t look at Cas. He sat on the opposite side of the table from him and barely ate or acknowledged anyone.

What happened?

He longed to ask Dean about it, but he could find no opportunity to do so. They were always surrounded by others, and since Castiel no longer joined Dean at night, there wasn’t like to _be_ an opportunity. Instead of helping his friend combat whatever issue had come up, he was forced to watch from the sidelines.

 _It’d be better if we’d never been intimate_ , he thought bitterly. _Then I could pull him aside without it being awkward or misinterpreted. Now I can’t even be a friend to Dean the way we once were. All I can do is serve as his bodyguard._

_So that’s what I’ll do._

\- - - -

Castiel couldn’t help but notice how Daphne paid him a lot more attention after that. She sought him out throughout the day, almost always knowing when he would be available and not tasked with Dean’s protection. He didn’t mind, though it was a little bewildering to be the center of someone’s attention. Daphne’s company was at least pleasant, but he often found himself wishing it was Dean asking him to read with him in library or visit the stables to go for a ride.

The friendship was nice and helped fill the gap in his life that Dean’s coldness had left.

\- - - -

Dean worked himself into the ground the next few days. He stayed up late, dismissing Cas in the wee hours of the night and remaining at his desk. There was no reason for him to avoid sleep as he did—no wars, no treaties, no emergencies, or petitions to pour over—yet he still managed it.

On the second day, Dean had dark circles under his eyes and had to end a meeting early because he simply couldn’t focus. Bobby grumbled about how “that boy needs to get some sleep or he’ll pass out in a meeting” and Castiel decided he’d have to take matters into his own hands. If Dean wouldn’t take care of himself, the least Castiel could do was do it for him.

That night, long after Castiel’s duties had ended, he swallowed his own hurt and went to find Dean. He found him slumped over his desk at the library, a puddle of drool soaking into the pages of the book underneath him. With a sigh, Castiel worked his hands underneath Dean and edged him out of the chair.

Dean groaned wordlessly, his body limp and heavy as Castiel pulled him into his arms. Dean settled against Cas’ chest and he carried him to bed. When Dean leaned in and snuggled against him, Castiel dismissed it; Dean was half asleep and exhausted, there was no way he knew what he was doing or how it might appear.

As gently as he could, Castiel set Dean down on the bed. He pulled off his boots and clothes (and his eyes certainly didn’t linger on Dean’s bare chest). He tucked the covers around Dean (and if his fingers grazed Dean’s arms, it was only by accident). And finally, because he simply couldn’t help himself, he leaned down to kiss Dean’s forehead and tuck a stray hand of hair behind his ear.

He tried to pull his hand away, but Dean’s shot up to grab his wrist. Castiel's’ breath caught when he looked down to see Dean watching him.

“I miss you,” Dean breathed out, his words tickling Castiel’s chin.

“Would you like me to stay?”

Dean made a pitiful noise. “You know I do…” he whispered so quietly Castiel could barely hear it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Castiel kicked off his boots and striped off his leather armor. He climbed into bed behind Dean and held him close, daring to kiss the back of his neck. Dean sighed happily and soon relaxed into light snores.

Fears and second guessing threatened to keep him up all night, but Castiel firmly put those nagging thoughts aside. Dean wanted him here and he wanted to be here. That would have to be enough. He drifted off, safe in that knowledge and comforted at being so close to Dean once more.

When Castiel awoke the next morning after the most fitful night’s sleep he’d had since he’d sustained his injuries, it was to the realization that he was in Dean’s bed and Dean was draped around him. Castiel was on his back and Dean’s head rested on his chest, an arm slung around him and their legs intertwined.

Such an innocent embrace shouldn't be arousing, but it was, and Castiel feel himself rapidly growing hard. He tried to remain still and will himself not to think about Dean's near naked body pressed against him, or remember all the ways they'd found pleasure in this very bed. He failed on both counts, moving to palm his erection and greedily drinking in the moment.

Dean shifted, his own morning wood pressing against Castiel’s thigh, and they both gasped when Dean thrust forward. Dean froze, turning to look at Cas in disbelief—did he think he’d dreamed Castiel bringing him to bed—and overcome with a sudden burning _need_ to have this, Castiel reached to grab the back of Dean’s neck. He squeezed lightly and brushed his thumb through his hair before drawing Dean down for a kiss.

When their lips met, Dean moaned filthily and greedily moved against Castiel. He could practically taste how much Dean wanted this. If Dean had truly missed him and wanted this, then why had he denied them both—?

No, he wouldn’t think about that now. It’d been too long, and he wanted this desperately. The worry could come later, if it must come at all.

Their kiss dragged out until Castiel worried that would be it. Impatient, he roughly maneuvered Dean so he was straddling his hips, perfectly aligning their cocks together. It was the perfect position for him to thrust up against Dean and for Dean to rut against him, the slow drag of their cocks against each other and the material of their smallclothes providing just enough friction.

Dean let Cas manhandle him. He nearly collapsed but caught himself, then tried to pull away.

“Your side—”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore.” _Which you’d know if you’d **talked** to me the past month,_ he wanted to add, but it felt too bitter and had no right interfering with this moment. “Now fuck me.”

Seemingly incoherent, Dean whimpered and did as he was told, rolling his hips against Cas’ again and again. Cas gripped his waist and urged him on, setting the pace just shy of demanding. It was slow, almost lazy the way their orgasms built up. His body begged for more, but he kept in control and drew things out. He’d missed this and he wanted to indulge.

“Cas… Gonna… Gonna come…” Dean gasped between kisses, then buried his face in Cas’ neck and nipped at the tender skin there.

“Good.” His hands moved to grab at Dean’s ass. He adjusted the angle so that his cock rubbed along Dean’s balls and Dean mewled as he came. Castiel followed soon after, lost in hooded green eyes.

They dressed together, shy smiles on their faces and their elbows brushing far too often. Before they left the bedchamber, Castiel felt bold enough to lean in and steal a kiss from Dean. Nothing demanding, merely the chaste brush of lips against one another, but he hoped the message was clear.

It remained unspoken and ultimately the decision rested with Dean, but Castiel did his best to show he desired things to be the way they used to be.

They walked through the castle nearly hand and hand; it seemed Dean wasn’t pushing him away, and that was a good sign. Castiel couldn’t wait until nightfall when perhaps they’d slip into the same bed once more...

“Morning, Daphne,” Dean said stiffly as he and Cas ran into her on the way down to breakfast. It’d been some time since Dean had referred to her as ‘Daph.’

“Your Majesty. High Knight.”

“Daphne,” Cas said with a nod. It wasn’t often he was addressed by his title, and certainly not in the same breath that Dean was referred to as king. It almost sounded like they were equal.

“Any plans today?” Dean asked a bit too harshly. He noticed and corrected, his tone softening a bit as he added, “I know you only plan to stay a little longer, I’m sure you’re trying to get in your fill of what court has to offer.”

“Indeed I am,” she said, batting her eyes at Castiel before turning to Dean. “I was actually wondering if I could trouble you for a favor. I was hoping to go on a carriage ride in the lands around the castle, but I don’t know them well and would like an escort.”

It wasn’t uncommon for noblewoman to ask for Dean’s company while they went on long rides (though usually they were interested in courtship, which Daphne claimed not to be). The request didn’t seem out of the ordinary… until Daphne finished it.

“I would feel very safe and well attended if you would allow Castiel to come with me. I’m sure with all his first hand experience growing up and training in these lands, he would have a lot to teach me.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped and he shifted back and forth on his feet, antsy to get out of here. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there were too many clues. Surely he was blowing things out of proportion, but it seemed that Daphne was behaving as though she were romantically interested in _him_.

“Of course,” Dean said. “I’m sure Castiel would be glad to go with you. Isn’t that right?”

He couldn’t help the look of betrayal that crossed his face when he turned to Dean. Dean _must_ know what this sounded like, and yet he willingly offered Cas’ company over. Had last night meant nothing to him?

Apparently not.

“I suppose I could come, if Dean allows it,” he muttered as panic welled up inside of him.

Dean clapped his hands together. “Then it’s settled. The two of you can set out as soon as breakfast is done."

“I look forward to it.” Daphne dipped in a low curtsey and then headed off down the hallway, casting a fond look over her shoulder before she rounded a corner.

“Before you say anything,” Dean interjected as soon as Daphne was out of sight, “I’m sure Bobby doesn’t mind taking over guard duty for the day. It’ll be fine. Just… enjoy yourself.”

“That’s _not—Dean_.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said, pinched expression suggesting it was anything but. “It’s… it’s fine, okay?” Then he walked off before Castiel could argue that it really was not.

\- - - -

The trip was a welcome distraction. They opted for a small two horse carriage that Castiel could drive. Daphne sat with him, dressed in far too many jewels and a robe impractical for such an outing. As they set out across the moat, Castiel began giving his tour of the area. Daphne hung on every word and asked questions to show her genuine interest. She clearly wanted to know the area, though to what end Castiel wasn’t sure.

By noon they’d traveled quite far and Castiel began to turn them around. They were in a patch of woods several miles outside the town that grew around the castle. If he timed things right, they’d arrive back in time for dinner.

“Now let’s see how much you remember,” Castiel said. “I’ll point out the landmarks as we go back, and you tell me what you’ve learned.”

“I didn’t know there’d be a test!” she said with mock surprise. “I didn’t take notes!”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine all the same,” he reassured her. She winked at him and Castiel couldn’t help but chuckle. He was glad to have found a friend in Daphne, but in a lot of ways she reminded him of Meg. He hoped that if he had to rebuff her, she’d be as understanding as Meg had been.

He turned his attention back to the road.

A few paces ahead of them were a group of men on horseback, blocking the path.

“Castiel,” Daphne whispered urgently as she clung to his arm. “Are those soldiers? They’re armed…”

“They aren’t,” he grit out as he sized them up. Five men, each with at least one visible weapon. No bows or crossbows, so they’d have to get in close if they meant them harm. Two were built like fighters, two looked like boys, and the last wasn’t built like a soldier yet was lithe and muscular. He was the one to watch out for, Castiel suspected.

“Let us pass,” he warned, hand visibly going to his blade.

“And we will,” said one of the larger men. “Once you pay the toll.”

“There’s no toll to use this road, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Stand aside and I’ll be gracious enough to forget I saw you here.” That was a lie, but it would at least give them a head start to flee before Castiel sent the king’s guard after them.

“You hear that?” one of the boys laughed. “He’s ordering _us_ around. It’s as though he can’t count. Here, let me help you. There are five of us, against you and a lady in so many petticoats I don’t think she’ll be of much use.”

“So give us the lady’s lovely jewelled necklace and _we’ll_ forget you thought you could worm your way out of this.”

“Stay in the carriage,” Castiel whispered as he handed Daphne the reins. “If you see an opportunity to flee, take it.”

“But Castiel—” She gasped as Castiel got to the ground and unsheathed his sword.

“Looks like the fool thinks highly of himself,” laughed one of the men as he nudged his friend. “Shall we show him the mistake he’s made?”

 _Please do,_ Castiel thought as he carefully strode towards them. It’d be harder to take them on horseback, though he was confident he could manage it, but he’d prefer them on the ground.

“I think we’ll have to,” responded one of the big ones. Three of them dismounted and unsheathed their own weapons—two short swords and an axe—as they looked Castiel up and down. Apparently he was unimpressive, because they attacked almost at once.

It was pitiful how easy it was to dispatch them. Castiel’s injuries no longer hindered his movement, his recent training had made him strong again, and their style left much wanted. It was almost boring, and a small part of him wished he was back up north against a real challenge.

Before he’d finished knocking out or injuring the first three men, the other two joined in. One made for the carriage while Castiel was busy parrying blows, and Daphne yelped as she drove on the horses. They rushed past but she lost control and they ran off the road into a ditch.

In the chaos that followed, the surviving bandits mounted their horses and ran off. One lay dead in the dirt, but the rest were able to escape.

Adrenaline buzzed through him and he ignored the impulse to pursue them on foot. He’d promised Dean not to do anything foolish, and there was nothing to be gained by such a dangerous undertaking. Satisfied they were out of immediate harm, he sheathed his sword and rushed over to help Daphne.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he helped her with her dress which was caught on the edge of the carriage seat.

“I’m fine, thanks to you. That was… that was really impressive,” she said in awe. “You took them all by yourself!”

“There were only five of them.” Castiel helped Daphne to the edge of the road and then went back to the carriage. “Anyone can handle five bandits.”

“You’re joking, right? I understand modesty, but Castiel… I’ve had my carriages attacked by bandits before. One of the hazards of traveling, I’m afraid. Even with armed escorts, we usually turn over our jewels because the soldiers can’t handle being outnumbered so severely.”

Castiel’s head jerked around at that. “Oh.”

“Yes,” she said while shaking her head. “Oh. Castiel, you really have no idea how wonderful you are.”

“I suppose I don’t,” he mumbled. It was hard to brush off her praise, especially with Dean’s words still ringing in his ears: _Most of the other soldiers killed one, two, five, maybe a dozen men. You killed forty._ Maybe there was something to their words after all.

He turned his attention back to the carriage and horses. The carriage wheel was broken and the horses appeared injured. Nothing serious; they should be able to walk, but riding them was unthinkable. They’d have to abandon the carriage and walk the horses to the nearest farm or cottage.

When they finally found a homestead after at least an hour of walking, Castiel negotiated to be able to use one of their horses. He left the wounded mares there in exchange for borrowing one of their healthy ones and promised to compensate them for their help later. As they rode off with Daphne tucked on the saddle behind him, Castiel warned them about the bandits and to be wary of any injured men who showed up on their lands.

The journey was slow going. The old mare they’d borrowed could only go so fast, long past her prime and unused to bearing the weight of not one but two riders (and one in armor no less). Conversation was few and far between; Daphne’s earlier relief had given way to shock and she now held him tight and shivered.

The sun was dipping below the horizon when they finally entered the castle courtyard. He immediately dismounted and helped Daphne down and waved over the nearest guards.

“We were attacked by bandits east of the river. Send out a contingent of guards to go out and comb the woods for them. They’re injured, so they should be easy to find. Arrest them and bring them in.”

Before he could say more, there was a shout.

“Cas? CAS!”

Castiel turned to see Dean rushing across the courtyard. He practically threw himself at Cas as he hugged him.

“Oof.” He quickly regained his balance and returned the hug automatically. “Dean, what’s wrong—?”

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked almost hysterically as he squeezed even tighter. “You were attacked by bandits! I’ve been worried about you for _hours_ and you ask me what’s wrong?”

He broke away from the hug and looked at Cas with watery eyes. “Are you hurt? Your knee? Your side? Fuck, I shouldn't have let you go on your own. How can this happen basically in my own backyard? What if you’d gotten hurt? I don’t know what I would’ve—”

“Dean,” Cas said sternly as he put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Daphne is fine. It’s fine. There were only five of them and they were poorly armed and even more poorly trained. They didn’t stand a chance.” He felt his lips quirking up in a satisfied grin.

“Only five—” A strangled laugh escaped and Dean wiped a hand over his face. “By the gods, my bodyguard’s a cocky bastard. Next thing I know, I’m going to be hearing about him starting tavern brawls just for the hell of it.”

“Only if they insult the king’s honor,” he said with unnecessary solemnity.

Dean burst out laughing. “Never change, Cas.” He threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and turned them towards the castle.

As they walked up the steps, Castiel saw Daphne standing there, watching them with a strange expression. He raised an eyebrow in question, but she shook her head and said nothing as Dean lead them inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus Scene:**  
>  **Daphne:**  
>  **Daphne:**  
>  **Daphne:**  
>  **Daphne:** why didn't anyone tell me these boys are so gay?


	12. Words Are Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the last official chapter. there'll be an epilogue to wrap up some loose ends (and show that one conversation doesn't magically fix their issues), but for the most part dean and cas have finally managed to work things out :)
> 
> if you'd like more of my deancas stuff that's not on ao3, come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) where i try to post a new ficlet every day :)

Dean lead them to a small parlour and had dinner brought in for them. It wasn’t much, just some bread and cheese along with some fresh tea and wine. Cas ignored the tea, gulping down the wine and scarfing down the food so quickly a maid had to fetch more.

“Thank the gods you’re alright,” Dean said as he paced the room. Castiel refrained from rolling his eyes; Castiel would never understand how Dean managed to run a kingdom without worrying, but as soon as Cas saw even the smallest amount of action he freaked out.

“Oh,” Dean stopped short and turned to Daphne. “You _are_ okay, right?”

Daphne looked startled that Dean had addressed her. “Yes. A little shaken up, perhaps, but thankfully Castiel was there. He was rather impressive, the way he took charge and handled things.”

“Yeah, I'll bet,” Dean said with a wistful note to his voice.

Cas raised an eyebrow and Daphne hid a smile behind her tea cup.

“Your Majesty,” a squire said as she entered, bowing low enough that her braid nearly touched the ground. “You're needed in the courtyard. There are concerns about how to manage the bandit situation, and Sir Singer would like to speak with you.”

“Oh. Right, of course. I'll be there in a moment.” The squire disappeared and Dean lingered in the doorway. “I'll be back soon. Please, relax and wait for me. I'll have a servant bring up more wine and food for you.”

As soon as he was gone, Daphne turned to Castiel.

“Does he always hover like that?” she asked knowingly.

“Only when he thinks I'm hurt. I'm sure it's supposed to be endearing, but it can be suffocating when he doesn't let me do my job.”

Daphne sipped her tea. “He really cares about you, doesn’t he?” Her tone was unreadable, but her eyes watched Castiel shrewdly.

“We’ve been friends a long time.” Whatever that was worth.

“Is that all?” she asked as she put down her empty cup and reached to refill it.

“I don’t… I don’t understand—”

She waved off his confusion. “I think I should apologize. I'd heard a great deal about you, Castiel, and was pleased to meet you and put a face to all the stories. More than pleased, especially when I learned of the kind heart that accompanied the heroic knight. I'm now a touch embarrassed to admit it, but I had very much hoped to marry you.”

Blood rushed in Castiel's ears. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.

If she was offended by his lack of enthusiasm, she made no sign of it. “We got along so well, I approached Dean about it. You are his bodyguard after all, and if any marriage was to occur, I'd need his permission. Either he'd have to release you from your oath—which I would have never asked of either of you—or I'd have to move permanently to court. I've barely lived on my family estate, it didn't bother me to give it up. Not for a man as wholly _good_ as you.

“But now, I realize I may have read too much into your kind smiles and our amicable conversations. If I'm not mistaken, your heart already belongs to another. I'm sorry to have interfered and I'm terribly embarrassed not to have noticed it sooner.”

She spoke so casually of the feelings he'd long tried to bury, and it worried him to know how easily people saw through him. Was he really such an open book?

“There's no reason to be embarrassed that you didn't catch onto a thing meant to be secret,” he reassured her once he'd recovered from his initial shock. “There's no need to apologize, either. We're friends, and your only mistake was wanting more than I could give.”

“Are we still friends then?”

“Why wouldn't we be?”

Daphne chuckled and reached over to grasp his hand in hers. She squeezed it gently. “As I said, you are truly too _good_. You must promise to write me. I'd hate to lose touch simply because I'm leaving.”

“I'd like that.” Cas squeezed her hand back before releasing it. “Write to me whenever you wish, and I will gladly write back. Does this mean you'll be going home soon?”

“You were the only reason I stayed as long as I did. Besides, I think I've overstayed my welcome. At least now I know _why_ the king's been so cold to me since I arrived.” She sighed. Castiel wanted to ask what she meant, but she continued on. “I'll leave tomorrow. And write as soon as I get back.”

She left for her chambers—no doubt she would need to tell her servants to prepare to leave—but stopped to kiss Cas’ cheek before she left. “I wish nothing but the best for you, good knight.”

As soon as he was alone, Cas realized how tired he truly was. It wasn’t the stress of dealing with the bandits or the physical exertion of fighting them. He felt emotionally drained after his talk with Daphne, and part of him knew there’s more to come. He’d have to address some of what Daphne said with Dean, and he didn’t look forward to it.

He’d have to confront the man he loved about trying to pawn him off on someone else.

Castiel picked at the food a servant brought in, slumped into his chair and miserable. When the door opened to reveal Dean an hour later, he was half-asleep.

“Cas? Where’s uh… where’s Daphne?”

“She went to bed a while ago.” With great effort, he pushed himself to his feet. “Tell me about the bandits while we walk?”

Dean licked his lips but nodded. “Sure.”

They’d found the bandits’ abandoned camp, one of the men dead from his wounds at the edge of the campfire. They’d gotten a lead that they’d fled southwest, and knights were in hot pursuit. The men had fled without most of their loot, so the soldiers were in the process of identifying it all and trying to find the true owners.

Castiel staggered and bumped into a few corners along the way, barely registering what Dean was saying or even that they’d arrived outside Dean’s room. It was a gentle hand on his shoulder that finally startled him out of his near sleep walking.

“Cas, you sure you’re okay?”

“Tired,” he mumbled as he swayed on his feet.

Dean hesitated a moment, then quietly asked, “Would you like to stay here tonight? Or at least let me walk you to your room. You’re dead on your feet.”

“Hmmm?” Castiel narrowed his eyes as he tried to focus. “Stay here tonight?”

“Only if you want to.”

“... Do _you_ want me to?”

“Wh—? Yeah, of course I was…” Dean was adorably flustered, blushing and suddenly finding the floor very interesting. “I was really worried about you today. It’d make me feel better if I knew you were safe tonight. I mean, I _know_ nothing will happen inside the castle, but… but it’d be nice to have you _right there_. But if you’d rather not—”

“Dean. I’d love to.” It was probably only because he was so sleep-rattled that he agreed, but he couldn’t say no. Not to Dean actually _asking_ him to stay close.

Castiel was a wreck. He failed not once but three times to undo his belt and he couldn’t get his left boot more than halfway off before Dean interceded on his behalf. With careful movements, he undressed Cas and helped him into the bed, then followed him. The whole thing seemed very familiar to Cas, but he yawned and shrugged off the feeling of deja vu.

As soon as Cas was situated, Dean moved in behind him. He wrapped his arms and legs around Castiel so that he could barely move, kissing the back of Cas’ neck with a featherlight touch.

“You promised you’d never do that again,” Dean whispered, voice tight with raw emotion threatening to spill over.

“It’s not the same,” Cas mumbled around a yawn. “Five incompetent bandits versus an entire army of trained warriors? Very different. Those bandits never stood a chance.”

The room fell quiet and Castiel almost drifted off, but then Dean spoke with a fierce type of urgency. “When you didn't come back, do you think that mattered? I imagined the worst. There might have only been five of them, but I didn’t know that. All I knew was you went out for a carriage ride and didn’t come back.”

“Sorry,” Cas whispered back for lack of anything else to say. Of course from his perspective it was an easy if not tedious matter, but from Dean’s it was nothing but unknowns and questions until Castiel had ridden through the gates.

“... It's fine. Not your fault I worry.”

This time when silence fell, it wasn’t as charged. Dean relaxed against Castiel’s back, and Castiel let Dean’s even breathing lull him under. As he drifted off, he thought there were things he should address—about himself, about Daphne, about Dean—but he was tired and couldn’t quite remember _what_ he wanted to say. Besides, he was so happy and secure in Dean’s arms, he couldn’t quite find the energy to care.  

\- - - -

Dean wasn’t in the bed when Castiel woke up the next morning, but the vacant side was still pleasantly warm. Groggy, Cas rolled over to look around the room. He was met with a kiss that was gone before he had a chance to properly respond.

“It's okay, it's still early,” Dean said as he nudged Cas to lie back down. “Rest. You've got the morning off. I'll have breakfast sent up.”

Still inexplicably tired, Cas grunted and buried his face back in the pillows. They smelled like Dean, and he was hard pressed to come up with a reason why he should leave the bed right now. He sighed happily and fell back to sleep.

When he finally woke up hours later, he was alone. Clothes were laid out for him, as was a small breakfast, and he ate while getting dressed. His body felt better, but his heart ached with the knowledge that he’d have to talk to Dean about what Daphne had said. The conversation was inevitable, but maybe Castiel took a little more care than he needed to getting ready if only to buy a few more minutes.

He found Dean in his study, lips moving silently as he read over a letter. Cas dismissed the guard on duty and took over. He even managed to get as far as Dean’s right shoulder before Dean noticed he was there.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Ah!” Dean jumped and clutched at his heart. “Dammit, Cas, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” He could barely hold back his amused smile. Dean tended to get engrossed in his reading, so it was likely he truly _hadn’t_ noticed Cas at all.

“Yeah, well,” Dean huffed. “You still gave me a heart attack. Take a seat. We should uh… we should talk.”

Here it was then.

Castiel sat opposite Dean at the desk and watched as Dean meticulously arranged the papers while avoiding Cas’ eye. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that Dean seemed to equally dread hashing things out.

“So,” Dean began with forced nonchalance. “Daphne told me she’d be leaving today. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised she’d be leaving so soon. I thought for sure she’d be staying another week at least.”

There was a pause that Dean obviously expected Castiel to fill in, but Cas didn’t know what to say so he remained quiet and let Dean continue.

“You must be sad to see Daphne go,” Dean prompted. His eyes were tight and words a tad too formal. “You two have been getting along well.”

“I’ll miss her company,” Cas agreed. “We’ll write each other and keep in touch, but truth be told, I’ll be glad to have the space afforded by her absence. I’m not used to the flattery and attention she was bestowing on me, and while I like Daphne, she monopolized a lot more of my time than I’d like. While I value her friendship, I think we’re more suited to long distance correspondences with the occasional visit.”

“Oh,” Dean said in genuine surprise. “I uh… I thought there might be something more going on there besides uh… besides friendship.”

Frustration bubbled over and Cas clenched his teeth in an effort to keep any harsh words from spilling out.

“You mean because she asked your permission to marry me?”

Whoops. Too late.

Dean looked guilt stricken. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “Normally when marriage is discussed, there are more tender feelings involved than ‘friendship.’”

Now that he’d expressed just some of his annoyance, Cas found it harder to hold the rest in check. “And you just… blindly gave your permission to her?”

“I’m not going to deny you happiness,” Dean said defensively. “Of course I gave permission. If she’d won your heart, then she’d won it. And if she hadn’t… well, then it didn’t much matter what I said.”

“But you didn’t even talk to me about it? Neither of you?”

“Well,” Dean grumbled, “clearly Daphne said _something_ —”

“Dean!” Cas scolded.

"I-I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas. If there was something going on, it truly wasn’t my business until _you_ decided to tell me. If you wanted to settle down and get married, then that’s…” Dean swallowed and visibly forced himself to continue. “Then that’s great. Whether it’s to Daphne or a seamstress or another knight or a noble… I want you to be happy. With whoever makes you happy. Or not, if you still don’t see yourself settling down. Whatever you want, I want to make sure you get it. You deserve it.”

And there it was. Some imagined happily ever after laid out by Dean, as though Castiel was supposed to be _grateful_ for it. The king would allow him whatever future he wanted, married or not, but it didn’t matter. It was a consolation prize, a continual reminder that he’d forever fall short of what he truly wanted.

For the first time either could remember, Cas lost his temper at Dean.

“I don’t _want_ to marry Daphne or a seamstress or a knight or a noble!” Cas exploded. Dean’s eyes went wide but Cas didn’t let him interrupt. “I don’t want _anyone_ , no matter how convenient you might find it to get rid of me so you can move on. It’s bad enough that I can’t have _you,_ why do you have to torment me with this talk of marriage?”

Dean gaped at him, mouth moving usefully until he finally managed to find words. “Wh- _what_?” Dean croaked. “But-but you said you never… you never saw yourself getting married… You never saw a future between us—”

“Because knights don’t marry kings! And kings don’t marry men!” he shouted. _This is a mistake_ , part of him cautioned. _You’re revealing too much. The more you say, the more you’re opening yourself up to heartbreak._ But now that he’d started, there was nothing he could do to hold back. “Why would I waste the energy picturing a future that can never be? I could as soon sprout wings and fly as marry you!

“Even if… even if you _did_ love me like that, you need an heir and stability for the kingdom that I simply cannot provide you. So of course there was no marriage in my future. My future is _you,_ so that means I’ll serve as your bodyguard and make sure you're safe and happy because at least _one_ of us should be—”

He was interrupted mid-tirade by Dean leaning over the table to pull him in for a kiss. It was clumsy and more than a little awkward, but Cas wouldn’t have changed a thing even if he could.

“What was that for?” Cas asked when Dean broke away, though only far enough to rest his forehead to Cas’.

“I knew you loved me.”

Despite himself, Cas blushed. “Well… yes.” Dean kissed him again, but this time Cas pushed him away. “I don’t understand.”

Dean slumped back into his chair, a huge grin in place. “I’ve been freaking out this whole time that you were only with me out of obligation… That maybe I’d been wrong all these years and you didn’t love me back. But this whole time you’ve been worried about some nonsense my dad said _years_ ago—”

“It’s not nonsense,” Cas interrupted. He didn’t know what Dean was going on about, but that much he _did_ know: Dean couldn’t marry another man, and he certainly wouldn’t lower himself to marrying a knight. None of the women that’d he’d entertained had been below the rank of noblewoman, at least not the ones who stood a chance of marrying him. Cas was far below that, completely unworthy of Dean’s romantic interest.

“Cas,” Dean said gently. It was enough to pull Cas out of his own head, and he looked up at Dean. “I’m a little hurt you didn’t think I love you enough to marry you regardless, but I assure you, it’s _definitely_ nonsense. I suppose I _did_ humor my father more than I should have, but I never planned to marry anyone but you if I could help it. Might I remind you that I’m king now? I don’t have to listen to my father anymore.”

The blood drained from his face and Cas’ heart surely stopped. Perhaps he’d been more seriously injured up north than he thought, or maybe the bandits had gotten the better of him and he now lay bleeding out in a field. There was no other explanation for what he was hearing than that he’d died and gone to Heaven. Or Hell. Or somewhere in between. The point was there was _no way_ this was real. Because it sounded like Dean said… That he’d said…

“Cas? What’s wrong? You’re scaring me. What’d I say?”

Cas blinked and saw Dean was now beside him, kneeling in front of him and holding his hands.

“You love me?” Cas asked.

“… Yes?” Dean answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re… you’re _in love_ with me?” Castiel clarified. Friends could love each other, but what Dean was suggesting was so much more than that.

“Yes?” Dean frowned. “I’m sure I’ve told you that before.” He carefully took in Castiel’s blank expression. “... Shit, you really didn’t know, did you?”

Cas shook his head. Speaking was a physical impossibility at the moment.

“Cas…” Dean sounded heartbroken. Then he stood and pulled Castiel to his feet, a determined look on his face. “Follow me.”

Without further explanation, he grabbed Cas by the hand and dragged him around the castle. They checked about a dozen rooms before Dean finally found whatever it was he wanted.

“Stay here,” he said as he positioned Castiel in the hallway outside the privy council meeting chambers. The door was askew, so Castiel would be able to look inside and hear whatever was said, but it would be unlikely for him to be seen unless someone had a direct line of sight with him. Dean nodded his approval, then stepped inside.

“Bobby, can I ask you something?”

Castiel more heard than saw Bobby shift in his seat and turn to face Dean. “Of course, boy. What’s wrong?”

There was a slight pause—no doubt due to Dean’s annoyance at being called ‘boy’ but he ignored it—and then Dean said, “Do I need to get married soon?”

Cas’ gut clenched uncomfortably. What was this about?

" _Need_ to?” Bobby asked, obviously bewildered at the topic. “No. But the people like royal weddings and they like seeing royal couples on the throne, so you certainly _could_. Why, you planning on making an honest man out of Cas?”

Cas outright gasped when he heard that. Luckily Bobby didn’t hear it.

“What does this have to do with Cas?” Dean said a little too innocently.

“Don’t be cute.” Castiel could _hear_ how badly Bobby wanted to smack Dean across the back of the head. “You’ve been in love with that boy since before you even knew what it meant to be in love with someone. Honestly, I can’t figure out why you two haven’t tied the knot already.” Cas leaned forward and caught a glimpse of Bobby eyeing Dean suspiciously, while Dean sat there looking like a child being scolded for stealing a cookie. “Is this why you two been so distant lately? ‘Cuz of this whole marriage business?”

Dean deflated a bit. “Something like that… You noticed?”

“Everybody with eyes has noticed. You two are terrible at keepin’ your personal business personal. You know how many rumors I’ve had to quash since you two started sleepin’ together?”

“I did not,” Dean said with a grimace. “Though I did wonder how news hadn’t spread beyond the castle walls.”

“‘Course I didn’t travel up north with you two, so who knows what _they_ think of you bedding your High Knight,” Bobby teased. “So when you two are gettin’ hitched? Should I start drafting invitations?”

“Uh… there have been a few… _complications_ —”

“What’d you do?”

“What’d _I_ do?” Why do you assume it’s me?”

"Because that boy’s been in love with you even longer than you’ve been with him. He’d do anything you asked of him, and he’d do it happily. So if there’s trouble, my guess is because you caused it.” He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m not saying you did it on purpose, but you do have a history of expecting things to go your way and not really seeing it when they don’t. Burden of growing up a prince, I suspect. Just talk to him, I’m sure you two’ll work it out.”

“Yeah, I hope so. Or else I got that wedding ring forged for nothing.”

“Well why don’t you get to it.” He patted Dean’s shoulder then pushed him towards the door. Cas ducked further into the hallway, lest he be seen eavesdropping. Even if Dean _wanted_ him to hear all of that, he suspected Bobby would be at least a little exasperated.

Dean ducked out of the room, grabbing a hold of Cas, and leading him directly to his bed chambers. Whenever Cas tried to speak, Dean would hush him, and any time he tried to pull away, Dean’s grip tightened. He felt like his world had been turned upside down within the course of an hour, so he relied on Dean’s steady presence and let him take charge.

As soon as they were behind closed doors, Dean was crowding Castiel against the wall and kissing his neck.

“This is probably… the least romantic way… I could propose…” Dean said between kisses and the occasional nibble. “But will you please… do me the honor of marrying me…”

“Dean,” Castiel gasped. He wanted to give in, but he could still scarce believe it. “You can’t… you _shouldn’t_ . You _have_ to marry someone else. You need an heir- _oh!_ ” he moaned as Dean’s hands worked their way down to undo his belt.

“Sammy’s got a kid,” Dean purred. “Soon to be two, in fact. I’ve had a letter drafted for months now asking Sam to let me name Henry my successor. The only reason I haven’t sent it yet is because I was waiting to actually propose first.”

Unable to think with Dean sucking a bruise onto his neck and wiggling his hand into Cas’ pants, he grabbed Dean’s wrist to stop him and gently forced Dean to take a few steps back.

“Dean… I don’t… It’s not that I don’t want to, but…” He hesitated, eyes downcast as he confessed, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re giving anything up to be with me. I’m just a knight—”

“High Knight of the King’s Guard,” Dean corrected. “You technically outrank most of the inherited, land-owning nobility in Winchester.”

“I’m still just a knight. I was trained to fight. I would be useless helping you run your kingdom.”

“Well, that’s bullshit. You were incredibly helpful with the disaster up north. Would’ve been more so, if I’d listened before increasing troops there. And I honestly don’t care that you’re a knight or a peasant’s son. You’re _Cas_ , and that’s pretty much the only requirement I’m looking for in a spouse. Literally everyone I’ve been forced to entertain as a possible wife has fallen short because she’s not you. They’re _never_ going to measure up, no matter what their pedigree or title. I love _you_.”

“Dean—”

“I’m not kidding,” he said earnestly. “Even if you say no to me now, which of course you can if you’d rather not wed, I would never marry anyone else. You’re it for me. Husband, bodyguard, boyfriend… take your pick. I’m yours, no matter what you choose.”

Cas was stunned. He’d never dreamed Dean cared for him as much as he cared for Dean. Even a fraction as much. Yet here he was, proclaiming his love and

“I’m yours as well,” Cas said. “I always have been.”

“Then we not make it official, huh?” He went to his dresser and pulled out a velvet bag. He offered it to Castiel; inside was a golden band with an engraving:

_For the man who stole my heart._

“When did you have this made?” Cas said in awe.

“Uh… some time when you were up north? It seemed like the only way I could get it done and still surprise you with it, if you weren’t around to accidentally catch me going to the blacksmith.”

“You’ve had it for _years_?”

Dean’s shy smile was answer enough. “I can’t believe you ever thought this was just about sex or convenience for me… I love you, Cas. I adore you. Marrying you has always been part of the plan. I really thought you knew that, but I’m still sorry I didn’t make it clear.” He took the ring and held it at the tip of Cas’ ring finger. “So I would love nothing more than to call you my husband, so I can spend the rest of our lives together trying to show you just how much I care.”

“Yes,” he breathed with a dry mouth. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Dean slipped the ring on his finger. A perfect fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus Scene:**  
>  **Rufus, laughing:** wtf did dean really think his thing with cas was a secret?  
>  **Bobby:** i have no fucking clue. those two are about as subtle as a hurricane  
>  **Rufus:** though i suppose it’s not that obvious… both that amara and that daphne seemed to have no clue they were going after men who were already taken  
>  **Bobby:** true, but they at least haven’t been around here long. dean and cas not knowing is idiotic  
>  **Rufus:** no arguments there


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's done. we did it, we reached the end :) thank you guys so much for sticking with this story, and for your feedback and kudos along the way <3 i really appreciate it - you kept me going over the months it took me to really settle in and finish things up.
> 
> this isn't so much a chapter as a potpourri of things i wanted to talk about in regards to their relationship. it's kind of an overview and doesn't go too in depth on any of them, and i'm sure there are other things that i could've talked about that ended up being left out. if you guys have suggestions for timestamps (especially if they're dean pov)/questions about things, let me know :) i know red-queen7816 already sent me an idea for a later timestamp that i just might write... 
> 
> so that's pretty much it. come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) to chat about deancas. if you follow me on ao3, i just started a murder husbands au that will take over as my destiel WIP. and if you're a dcj fan, i will be starting a medieval au for them soon now that this story's done and i have room in my head for worldbuilding.

**The Wedding**

Dean and Cas (unsurprisingly) spend the rest of the day in bed. Dean worships Cas’ body, pampers him, and never stops whispering endearments and pledges of affection. Cas blushes at first, still not quite believing this is real, but he thinks maybe he’ll believe Dean with time. His open affection is obvious, and if Cas thinks over their relationship over the years, there’s no denying Dean’s words and actions have always been those of a man deeply in love.

“What are you thinking?” Dean asks as he pulls Cas closer to him. He takes Cas’ hand in his and kisses each knuckle, paying special attention to the ring that now sits there.

“That you love me, and I was blind not to see it.”

It’s weird, speaking his mind like that.

“I do love you, and you may have been blind—Bobby has been teasing me about you since I was fifteen—but that just means I’ll have to be extra careful to tell you how much I love you every day from here on out.”

Dean announces the upcoming marriage the next day at the privy council meeting. There’s a stunned silence before Marv shouts out, “Finally!” The rest break out into polite applause and Bobby’s eyes are suspiciously wet.

The people are equally receptive of the news, though somewhat shocked. Bobby had done his work too well, and most are completely surprised to find out that the king was having an affair with his bodyguard. As soon as the citizenry gets wind of it, they are extremely supportive. The king just earned a military victory, Cas is basically a war hero, and apparently it’s extremely romantic for boyhood friends to fall in love and decide to wed.

There are even a series of erotica novels that become popular soon after, all centered around a king and his knight. Dean is mortified. Cas likes to read them and comment on the inaccuracies.

The wedding is scheduled for after Jess gives birth (to another son, named John) and the baby is old enough to travel. In the meantime, Dean and Cas travel around Winchester making public appearances and settling into being together publicly. It’s strange for Cas, learning to be the center of attention. He’s spent so long in the background… But it warms his heart whenever Dean introduces him as his fiance.

When the wedding day finally arrives, it’s a rather quiet affair. There are barely a hundred in attendance, and the ceremony itself is short. There are a number of public celebrations and feasts in their name, but everything meant for Dean and Cas is simple.

Sam, Jess, and the boys stay in the castle to oversee the kingdom while Dean and Cas disappear for a month on their honeymoon.

 

**Reactions to the News**

  * **Everyone who lives in the castle:** Finally jfc it’s been so long we’ve all lost the betting pool  

  * **The people of Winchester:** Wow they are a hot couple. We are blessed to have such amazingly handsome men in charge of us. And they’re so in love… Wow. Just wow.  

  * **Charlie, Benny, Daphne, Amara, Meg, pretty much everyone who’s had some sort of contact with Dean and Cas over the last decade:** Oh thank fuck they worked it out, hallelujah  

  * **Jess:** Awww that’s so cute! I had a feeling about them. **  
Sam:** …… I didn’t even know Dean liked men.  
**Jess:** …. What about him and Benny?  
**Sam:** What about it? They spent a lot of time together. Alone. And were kinda disheveled whenever they reappeared— _Oh my god!_  
**Jess:** …. Honey I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes.



 

**Henry, the Successor**

Sam is surprised but of course lets Henry be named successor. There’s some negotiations to be made, but the brothers work it out. The whole family will visit the castle each summer so that Henry can get used to it as a second home. The rest of the year, tutors attend him and help prepare him for his future as King of Winchester. When he comes of age at fifteen, he’ll officially move to the castle and remain there.

There are some other issues that Dean and Cas discuss. Dean is king, Henry is his heir, but where does that leave Cas?

“You’ll be co-king, obviously,” Dean says when Cas brings it up.

“Co-king,” Cas repeats slowly, as though unable to process it.

“Yeah, what else?”

Co-king means he has equal power to Dean. If Dean should die first, Cas would continue to reign as king. It’s an unprecedented amount of power to offer a lowborn spouse of a royal. At best he should be King Consort, king in name and with some power, but his power would end with Dean’s reign.

Cas doesn’t approve of Dean’s decision. Dean doesn’t approve of Cas’ resistance, especially since it seems to be rooted in Cas’ low self worth. It’s an ongoing argument, both before and after the wedding. Dean is insistent and gets his way, but it’s more because Cas stops voicing his resistance.

Despite what Dean insists is only right, Cas has no intention of being sole king. He doesn’t tell Dean, but should anything ever happen to Dean, Cas would abdicate his crown and let Henry take over. At most, he would serve as regent until Henry was old enough, but he doubts that will be necessary. He intends to make sure Dean lives a long and healthy life.

And if he can help it, Dean will long outlive him.

 

**The Kings, their relationship after marriage**

They’re adorable together. Now that physical affection is allowed between them in public, Dean is constantly touching Cas’ arms or shoulder sor holding his hand. He steals kisses constantly and is completely unashamed about it. It takes a lot of encouragement for Cas to start to do the same.

They back each other up in privy council meetings or when ambassadors come. One gets to play “good king” while the other’s “bad king.” Dean thinks nothing’s hotter than watching Cas be “bad king.” But may the old gods help any visiting noble or royalty who’s rude to Cas or in any way implies that he’s anything _less_ than Dean’s equal. Then they learn with a vengeance that Dean is _not_ a king to be trifled with. Not when it comes to Cas.

They still have issues. Dean now knows how much he’s hurt Cas over the years, and he’s determined that it will stop. He insists they work on their communication, talking about what bothers them as well as what fears they have. Cas is uncomfortable at first, but gradually opens up. Dean’s biggest concern, especially after his scare up north, is the imbalance of power that’s inherent to their relationship.

He does his best to eliminate it. It’s a large part of why he wants Cas to be his co-king, so he has power and a title in his own right and isn’t completely dependent on Dean for his position. But there is the one other major concern he has...

 

**The Bodyguard Issue**

Cas can no longer be Dean’s bodyguard. Not officially, anyway. It’s well known that he’ll give his life for Dean’s, and it’s equally well known that Dean very adamantly **does not** want things to come to that.

Aside from that, this is part of their relationship issues. Dean is Castiel’s king, his duty, his _employer_. How can there ever be balance when Cas _has_ to do what Dean says. Besides, a king doesn’t serve others. Cas remaining a bodyguard is completely impossible.

Of course, Cas may have not realized that.

“Well I guess I’d better find a new bodyguard. And one for you, too. And Henry will need one, of course—”

“Wait, what?” Cas interrupts. “Why would you need a new bodyguard?”

Dean narrows his eyes at his fiance. “Because kings don’t serve as bodyguards? And you’ll be king?”

“... Are you firing me?”

“Uh, technically, I suppose so?” Dean pulls Cas in for a hug and kisses his cheek. “Cas, you didn’t really think you’d be able to be my bodyguard _and_ king, did you?”

“I don’t trust anyone else to protect you, though. And I don’t need a bodyguard. I can look after myself—”

“I know,” Dean says. “Trust me, I’ve seen firsthand that you can, but it would make me feel better. And I know you’ll still protect me, but I want you to do it because you love me and because you want to, not because you _have_ to because I’m _paying_ you.”

Cas relents. Eventually. He’s not happy about it, because he truly _doesn’t_ trust anyone else with Dean’s safety. Not for the long term.

It takes _months_ to find suitable knights to take into their service as personal bodyguards. Cas’ process for finding candidates requires rigorous training. After the first batch of knights fail, Bobby mentions that he’s pretty sure he’s only ever known one man who could pass all of the tests, all while looking pointedly at Cas. With a bit of pleading on Dean’s part, Cas lowers his expectations _slightly_.

In exchange, Dean has to learn self-defense beyond what he learned as a boy. Dean is more than happy to spend hours each week in Cas’ company, learning to defend himself. And maybe once or twice, he purposely makes a mistake so Cas has to come in close and correct Dean’s stance. More often than not, their training sessions end with Dean on his back and Cas riding him until they’re a tired, sweaty mess.

 

**Happily Ever After**

This should go without saying, but Dean and Cas live out their rest of their days madly in love and ruling a peaceful kingdom together. Dean learns to see things from Cas’ perspective and take that into account, and Cas learns his own worth. They learn to be _together_ , and build a relationship that withstands many trials—more issues up north, the occasional assassination attempt, dissent from the people after famine strikes the west—and comes out stronger.   


End file.
